


A Princess for Midwinter

by DoYouCeeEmNow



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Cliches Galore, Collaboration, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-22 11:32:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 49,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17059007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoYouCeeEmNow/pseuds/DoYouCeeEmNow
Summary: Link trudged away from the gardeners’ shed. Like everything else at Lanayru Heights Park, it was oversized, grandiose, bordering on monstrous. He made his way past the back of the big house, and spared a moment to glance at it. Through every window, he could see people frantically rushing about, dusting and vacuuming and hanging decorations. Miss Paya’s annual Midwinter Ball was a massive, three-day affair when the most powerful people in the country gathered to relax and celebrate the new year.For Link, it marked a time of grim bitterness. He used to love snow. He used to love the holidays. But he didn’t anymore. Now, all those lights and gifts and songs were just a reminder of everything he’d nearly had… and lost.Or, CM and Lyxie try to cram as many terrible tropes into a single holiday fic, cackling all the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, CM here, back with a really silly light-hearted piece of fluff for the holidays, which I co-wrote with Lyxie. She will be publishing this same fic on FFnet.
> 
> I don't think that when we started, we anticipated that the end result would be basically a full-length novel, but here we are, three weeks later, completely baffled.
> 
> For those of you who are still waiting on my _Octopath Traveler_ fics, WORRY NOT. THEY, TOO, SHALL ONE DAY COME.
> 
> I won't be marking which paragraphs were written by whom ― maybe you can take a few wild guesses. I just don't want to detract from the core message, which is that Zelink is our life-source, and you can't stop us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in case you're wondering, this is the conversation that started it all. Enjoy!
> 
>  **Lyx:** I started watching _The Princess Switch_ but it’s not the same without you sitting next to me and howling at all the bad tropes. Nobody gets me like you.  
>  **CM:** Nooo, wait for me, we’ll watch it together.  
>  **Lyx:** Or, oh god, maybe… _Maybe_ … Maybe we should write a holiday one shot together and see how many tropes we can work in.  
>  **CM:** Yes, kthnx.  
>  **Lyx:** If we do it, though, we can’t plan it. We have to go in totally blind and just pass it back and forth every time one of us adds another ridiculous trope.  
>  **CM:** Works for me.  
>  **Lyx:** Okay. Here, I’ll start it.

Link stepped out into the cold and looked up at the sky. The clouds were hanging heavy and low. It would snow soon, he was sure.

He sighed.

He used to love snow. He used to love the holidays. But he didn’t anymore. Now, all those lights and gifts and songs were just a reminder of everything he’d nearly had… and lost.

“You really need to cheer up,” Granté warned him. “Miss Paya is going to be here soon and you know she’ll worry if she sees you this glum.”

Link scowled. “As long as we keep the grounds looking fine, Miss Paya will have nothing to complain about.”

“I didn’t say she’d complain―” Granté started, before pausing, inhaling the cold air, and taking another approach. “I know you can’t get this through your thick skull, but she actually does care about you. And us lowly groundskeepers as a whole. Or, at least, gods, I hope she cares about  _me_.”

Link rolled his eyes, kicking a lump of frozen dirt. Granté was hopeless. “I’ll be covering the topiaries in the East Garden.”

“Fine,” Granté muttered, watching as Link pulled on his gardener’s gloves, “you do that, you Grinch. I’m not offended. Looking in the East Wing windows sure beats chatting with your  _best_ friend.”

Link grabbed a set of tarps and stalked off, pretending he hadn’t heard.

It was true Granté could be counted among his best friends. And if having a work colleague for a best friend wasn’t the saddest thing in the world, Link didn’t know what was.

Link trudged away from the gardeners’ shed, which was a shed in name only. Like everything else at Lanayru Heights Park, it was oversized, grandiose, bordering on monstrous. Right now, it was swarming with junior groundskeepers dashing in and out, hauling armfuls of midwinter decorations to string up around the gardens and the exterior of the big house.

Link tucked his tarps a little more securely under his arm and threaded his way through the palatial garden, eyeing the plants critically as he went. The firly ferns were holding up well in the cold ― good, he thought, glad of the weatherproofing he’d done around the roots ― though it looked as though the swift violets might want a bit more fertilizer soon. Link made a mental note to do that once he was finished in the East Garden.

He made his way past the back of the big house, and spared a moment to glance at it. Through every window, he could see people frantically rushing about, dusting and vacuuming and hanging decorations. Miss Paya’s annual Midwinter Ball was a massive, three-day affair when the most powerful people in the country gathered to relax and celebrate the new year.

For Link, it marked a time of grim bitterness.

Better to focus on his own work. If his eyes did not deceive him, and they rarely did, the snow would come overnight. He had to cover the fragile branches before they were loaded down with ice, the weight breaking the elaborate, elegant shapes into a mess that he’d struggle to fix come spring.

Hefting his trimmer, he gave the first little scrub a cursory once over, snipping a few branches that had grown in late fall, the better to keep them from snagging when he wrapped them under a tarp. Then, picking the first sheet off the pile, he expertly wrapped the branches away, cocooning them together.

Behind him, someone opened the windows of the East Wing to air out the carpets ahead of the party, but he paid them no mind. All he could think about was how fortunate the shrubs were to have him.

His heart squeezed. Yes, even measly scrubs had someone to watch over them at this time of year. But who did he have left to watch over him?

Laughter wafted out of the house, buoyed by the cold breeze. Link caught a faint hint of a distant Midwinter carol, something about days being jolly and bright. He felt a pang in his chest as he remembered singing along with that carol, with  _her_ sitting in the passenger seat of his car. Her feet had been up on the dash, and she’d been singing along too, both of them a little off-key but having so much fun they didn’t care.

Had it only been a year ago? Hard to believe. It seemed like a lifetime since he’d come downstairs on Midwinter morning to find her gone, her things packed up, and only a note left behind:

_Link, I’m sorry. I wanted to stay and give you a good Midwinter, but I just can’t be with you anymore. I’ve fallen for someone else. I hope you’re able to find happiness without me. I will always remember our time together fondly._

She’d left him for his best friend, and in the process had burned his social life to the ground. When she left, she took everything: his support group, his happiness, his whole life. Link snipped a frozen branch with more vigor than care.

He didn’t need her. He didn’t need any of them. After all, he had his work. He had his garden, and a garden wouldn’t walk away from him in the middle of the night.

The worst of it was that she’d  _known_ what Midwinter meant to him. Growing up in the orphanage, he’d never had a family to celebrate with. He’d never had loved ones to bake fruitcakes with, or to decorate with, or to share a feast with on midwinter night. Growing up, he’d  _dreamed_ about having loved ones to celebrate with, and to him, the Midwinter holiday had represented that hope. And even though he’d never had a proper family of his own, when he’d struck out on his own and started living life on his own terms, he’d made friends ― and those friends had become like a little family. They’d celebrated with him. They’d gotten together to watch the silly old black-and-white movies where people burst into song. They’d made sweets and treats and eaten them together, sung the songs, made snowmen. When she’d come along, everything had finally seemed right. Life was perfect.

Too bad it had been too good to be true.

“I said,  _excuse_ me,” a voice called out from behind him.

Link turned, his trimmer in hand.

A woman. Blonde, bundled up in a white fur coat, with earmuffs and pale blue gloves. A cloud of warmth evaporated from her pink lips when she exhaled, and at Link’s stare, her expression wilted.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wincing. “Did I startle you? You must have been really lost in thought. I―” She flapped a hand upward, the universal female sign for mild annoyance, and said, “It’s stupid. I lost my brooch somewhere in this garden yesterday. I think. It fell out of my pocket.”

Link stared at her.

Her shoulders came up to her ears and she continued, “I was just wondering if you’d seen it. It was a gift from my father.”

A brooch. The words came to Link’s mind sluggishly. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the grim line of thinking. Maybe it was the way her mouth looked when she talked. Either way, it took a moment before he could collect his thoughts.

She didn’t let him speak, however. Even as Link inhaled to reply, the words came tumbling out of her mouth. “You might not have seen it. Maybe you weren’t even  _here_ yesterday. Why do I always assume? Maybe you had a day off. But do you know who  _was_ working here yesterday? I’m sure I saw a gardener or two. Maybe one of  _them_ saw it. Gods, it figures, I am the most forgetful person in the world. I can’t even tell if you were one of the gardeners that I did see.”

“H―”

“But, I mean, I guess I could tell it definitely wasn’t you. Because I would remember your face, for sure.” Her eyes widened. “I mean― because you’re handsome, not because― you don’t look weird or anything. You look great, actually. I mean― Uh. You― I― I’ll go ask at the big shed over there. Um. Thank you for your help.”

Link’s mouth gaped open, closed, reopened, but by the time he could muster words, she was already ten paces away, and then she was turning the corner of the garden wall, and then she was gone.

Which was when Link noticed how fast his heart was beating.

Oh no.

He turned, determined to put the girl from his mind, and focused on the next shrub. As he carefully assessed the plant, though, his mind worried at the question of the girl. Who was she? Probably a guest, though the guests weren't supposed to officially start arriving until tomorrow. Maybe she was some relative of Miss Paya’s? Some old family friend?

If she was here this early, he reasoned, she probably wasn't anyone too special. Sure, she was likely rich and well connected, but this event was attended by intellectual luminaries, diplomats, aristocrats, royals. Even the Princess was supposed to be in attendance this year. Compared to them, the awkward girl with the bumbling manners was unimportant. Insignificant. Probably a nobody.

Still, as Link worked, he found himself scanning the mulched garden beds for the glitter of lost jewelry. The girl was clearly distraught about it, and probably nervous about being surrounded by so many powerful strangers. Finding her lost brooch was the least he could do, Link told himself. It had nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with wanting to see that pretty girl smiling at him.

“You’re a sucker, Link,” he muttered to himself as he carefully wrapped plants. “You’re getting sentimental in your dotage.”

He finished without spotting the mystery girl’s brooch, and trudged back to the shed with an odd sense of disappointment swirling in his stomach. Maybe someone else had seen it or found it, he thought as he crunched up the gravel path.

As he neared the gardeners’ shed, Link caught sight of Granté. The other gardener was waving his arms, gesturing wildly and talking loudly. He looked rather red in the face, and Link drew nearer, wondering what had happened to agitate his excitable friend.

“No, no,  _no_.” Granté was scowling as he inspected one of the potted midwinter topiaries that two red-faced janitors were trying to haul into the house. “You can’t put that plant inside. Miss Paya is allergic to the pollen.”

“But… But Bolson told us to bring all the pretty plants inside,” said one of the befuddled janitors. “And this is a pretty plant.”

“Bolson,” said Granté with exaggerated patience, “is an expert at decorating, but he’s lousy at identifying plants. Leave that one outside ― you can put it by the door. Ah, good, you’re here,” he added, catching sight of Link. “Would you rather supervise what plants people take inside, or do you want to go deal with the florists? I heard Mils and Mina were having an argument about the best way to preserve Silent Princesses in a midwinter wreath.”

“I’ll go sort them out,” Link said, glad for the excuse to be far away from the house… and the mysterious girl who had lost the brooch.

* * *

 

“What are you looking at?”

Paya’s voice broke through Zelda’s reverie, though it did little to cheer her up. Out front, security guards were doing their damnedest to sort through the line of vehicles, trying to decide which were legitimate caterers or decorators, and which were uninvited members of the press.

Paya came to stand at her side and wrapped her shawl tighter around herself. “Oh, journalists,” she said, softly. “No rest for the weary, I suppose.”

“Don’t they have families to go home to?” Zelda wondered aloud, ignoring the strong pang in her chest. “It’ll be Midwinter soon. Surely they have  _lives_.”

Paya’s red eyes turned to Zelda, and she shot her that look that was so indelibly  _Paya_ that Zelda averted her gaze. She did love Paya, as much as one could love a friend, but the constant series of  _looks_ ― that mix of pity and sorrow and meek appeals to bravery ― was beginning to wear her down.

“I thought Papa’s funeral would incite them to have some decency.” Apparently not.

“It has been several months,” Paya said, gently. “I did think they held back admirably for the first three months after the… the tragedy.”

“But the time for decency has passed,” Midna said. “Now they want to know more about their mysterious crown princess.” She accompanied this moniker with a sarcastic flutter of her exquisitely manicured fingers, though she did not look up from her winter copy of  _Mode_.

Zelda eyed Midna critically. The Countess of Twilight was lounging on the chaise across the room, utterly unbothered by the spectacle out front. She, in contrast, was used to being the center of attention. No doubt she relished the reprieve of the spotlight being on Zelda, for once. Zelda scowled.

“I’m not that mysterious,” she mumbled. “I can’t even keep secrets.”

“You may feel that way,” Midna said, “but to them, you’re mystery incarnate. The heir to the throne, kept out of the spotlight your whole life, now returned just in time to inherit the greatest honour in the realm― Can’t blame the tabloids for wanting to know more about you.”

“I saw an article wondering whether you already had children,” Paya admitted guiltily, as though the very possibility that she’d have seen a tabloid cover was a betrayal.

“Children?” Zelda echoed, horrified. “I’m  _twenty-four_. Barely out of my Master’s―”

“Oh, yes,” Midna cackled. “Prime childbearing years. Have you considered an empire waist for your dress at the ball? Nothing gets the pregnancy rumour-mill bothered like a good empire waist.”

“I am  _not_ pregnant. I am not engaged. I am not even dating. Until just recently, I was utterly buried with my work at the University―”

“Spent an awful lot of time with your thesis supervisor, did you?” Midna clucked.

“Well, I  _had_ to, it was my thesis―” Zelda interrupted herself and glared at Midna. “You’re the worst. He had three children my age. A  _professor_ , old enough to remember when bliauds were in style.”

“Yikes,” Midna grimaced. “Remind me to send you my shopping advisor. If that’s who you’re asking for fashion advice…”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Zelda said, deflated. “If I can’t find my father’s brooch the whole point of my Midwinter Ball dress is moot. The gown was meant to complement the darn thing... honour my father…” She sighed. “Now I’ll just look like a flighty debutante, scarcely out of mourning. The press will have a field day with that one.” She would have to rotate the dresses― pick something else for tonight.

Midna and Paya exchanged a long look. Zelda  _hated_ those looks― the ones that said that Zelda was in over her head, that keeping her out of the spotlight for so long was a mistake. On Zelda’s worst days, the ones when she railed and raged against her father for leaving (and everything else he’d ever done, too), she agreed with them, that her sheltered upbringing  _had_ been a mistake, and that now she was being thrown to the wolves before she was ready. But even in those dark moments, she knew her father had just been trying to protect her, to give her the kind of life her mother had wanted for her. She’d never been normal, not precisely, but she’d been able to experience what life was like for Zelda, not Princess Zelda.

And all that was over now.

“What a mess,” Zelda finally said, turning away from the window before she did something like running her hands through her hair or scrubbing at her eyes ― something to further Midna and Paya’s shared belief that Zelda couldn’t handle what was coming next. Because she could handle it. She  _could_. “I’d best get down there and keep looking for it.”

“We have staff for that and I’ve warned them to keep a look out,” Paya volunteered warily.

Zelda knew. She’d seen the staff up close, and the staff had been very handsome indeed ― so handsome that Zelda had forgotten every ounce of her ten years’ of brutal finishing school etiquette lessons and babbled like a green debutante. She blushed at the thought ― the memory of how poorly she’d behaved, and how handsome that gardener had been.

Fortunately, Paya seemed to mistake Zelda’s embarrassment for frustration, because she waved her hands hurriedly. “But if you want to go look again, you can.”

“I may go when things calm down out there,” Zelda said. Last she’d seen, people were scurrying back and forth decorating the gardens (and winterproofing the delicate plants that might dislike the snow). “I’d hate to get in anyone’s way.”

Oh, but what she wouldn’t give to see that handsome gardener again… he reminded her of a painting that hung in the Royal Palace, of one of the old heroes of bygone times. Lean, with an athlete’s build, hair the color of wheat, a face that was almost girlishly pretty but was saved by slashing brows and intense eyes that were as blue as the sky on a cloudless day… eyes that had seemed to look right through her…

“Are you alright?” Paya asked hesitantly. Zelda snapped out of it.

“Fine,” she lied. “Just trying to think where it could have fallen.” She shook her head. It had been sheer foolishness to tuck the brooch into the pocket of her coat, but it was far too ostentatious to wear, and she liked being able to put her hand in her pocket and touch it. It made her feel like her father was with her. But she should have known it would fall out of her pocket. She was truly an idiot.  “Let’s talk of other things ― maybe it’ll come to me. I’ve never been to a Midwinter celebration like this before. What should I expect?”

“Lots of good food, fine drink, and dull conversation,” Midna said as she flipped a page in her magazine. “The intellectuals will try to show how smart they are, the nobles will try to show how fine-mannered they are, and everyone will be making you sick with their compliments and carefully-phrased prying questions. Best prepare yourself for disappointment now. It’s nothing like in the holiday movies.”

“Not even the masque?” Zelda asked in feigned disappointment. The masked ball happened on Midwinter Eve itself, the shortest night of the year, and everyone said it was a time of romance and wonder. Guests dressed in glittering finery and hid their faces, dancing by candlelight. At midnight, everyone took off their masks to greet the new year with fresh faces ― and to see what unexpected friends they might have made. Zelda had always wanted to attend a Midwinter masque, and had secretly dreamt of dancing with a handsome prince who would take off his mask at midnight, declare love…

Which was absurd, of course. Zelda knew all the princes from all of the neighboring kingdoms, and they were all awful. She grimaced as she remembered that Duke Ghirahim of Faron ― a small duchy that had once been part of Hyrule, but had gained independence several centuries prior ― would be in attendance at the party. He was pretty enough that he was on the tabloids nearly every day, but Zelda had met him a few times, and he was a cruel, selfish jerk.

“Nevermind,” she said before Paya and Midna could answer her question. “I’ve just realized Duke Ghirahim will be at the masque, which will make it about as far from romantic as anything can get.”

“Good,” said Midna. She closed her magazine and stood, stretching. “I’m glad I didn’t have to shatter that illusion for you. I’m hungry. Let’s call for food.”

Paya led the way out of the parlour, and together the three women stepped back into an absolute flurry of activity, the likes of which Zelda hadn’t seen since the funeral preparations, months ago.

“You think this is bad,” Midna said, leaning in, “wait until your coronation.”

Zelda inhaled slowly, willing herself not to panic. Now was not the time for that. She had promised herself that she would enjoy this last Midwinter before duty called her forever. She had sworn to herself nothing would keep her from having at least  _some_ good cheer.

If only she hadn’t lost her brooch, though… In time, she could probably have another one made ― the red crest of Hyrule wasn’t exactly an unknown design ― but it wouldn’t be the same. It wouldn’t have that etched message on the back, specifically for her, that sweet prayer her father had engraved for her.

In the months since his death, she had taken to running the pads of her fingers over those tiny graven words, memorizing their shape, and taking solace in their intent.

‘Beloved Zelda, I wish you a throne of nothing but joy, HRH R.B.H.’

How often had she curled around that brooch when the grief grew near and overwhelming? How often had she found bracing strength in her father’s prayer?

She  _would_ find joy. She  _would_. And it had to begin somewhere. Somewhere like here, at Paya’s exclusive Midwinter festivities. She would not think too hard on her grief. Her father had always urged her to revel in the season.

And she would find that darn brooch if it was the last thing she―

“Oof!”

She hadn’t looked where she was going. Suddenly her balance was thrown, and she felt herself falling, a tangle of clumsy limbs, until she landed. Hard.

With a knee in her stomach.

With the wind effectively knocked out of her, Zelda blinked, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Something smelled of… of the outdoors. That cold air scent of growing things and earth. It was comforting as only her father’s country estate had been. Except she didn’t recall the smell of that particular aftershave anywhere in that remote country hideaway.

The knee she was draped over was warm. She scrambled to move, to recover her composure, to push herself off― which was when she saw him.

Again.

The gardener.

Oh dear.

“Zelda, oh gods, are you alright?” Paya exclaimed, rushing forward to help her up and off of her unfortunate employee.

“I’m―” She stumbled backwards, feeling herself flush a deep red. “I’m fine― I’m so sorry,” she added, for the gardener’s benefit. Gods, he was attractive. Even when he was prone on the ground and stunned speechless. She stepped forward to offer him her hand. “It was very heroic to take the brunt of that fall. You will have to forgive me― I simply have no business wandering around as heedlessly as I do.”

“Oh. It’s alright,” he finally said, shooting her a smile that effectively and utterly disarmed her. He took her hand, though he did not pull as he stood. His fingers were warm despite the cold outside. She felt rough calluses for the briefest instant before he let go.

Oh no. Her heart had no business pounding as hard as it did in that moment.

“I, uh, I guess you’re still thinking about that brooch,” he said. “The whole team of gardeners is on the lookout. If it’s out in the gardens, we’ll find it.”

Gods, she hoped it was in the gardens. Then maybe he’d be the one to deliver it―

“Anyway,” he said, wiping the dust on his hands idly on the sides of his work trousers and casting an embarrassed look at his employer, “we’re ready for the floral review, Miss Paya.”

Paya exhaled, evidently relieved to see neither of them was injured. “Oh, very good. Thank you, Link.”

The gardener’s eyes jumped back to Zelda, for the briefest instant, and then he was nodding at the three of them and excusing himself.

Which was when Zelda noticed how hard Midna’s razor-sharp nails were digging into her arm. Casting a glance at her childhood friend, Zelda saw the beauty’s eyes following Link out of the room, until he was out of sight.

“Who,” Midna hissed, “was that?”

Paya blinked at them both, confused. “That’s Link. He’s one of my head gardeners. His team has been working on the grounds and getting the indoor wreaths ready―”

“You poor innocent,” Midna said, rolling her eyes, though she was smiling fondly, “that is not what I meant. Obviously, I want to know if he’s on the menu for room service.”

“Midna!”

Paya’s cheeks were scarlet, her eyes wide and horrified. Her mouth had formed a little ‘O’ of astonishment. She turned her embarrassed gaze to Zelda. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

“I have no idea,” Zelda said with as much serenity as she could. Her pink cheeks betrayed her, though, and Midna cackled.

“He’s a gardener, is he? I’m sure he knows his way around a bush or two,” the Countess of Twilight teased. She waggled her brows. “He’s well cared at tending to flowers. I’d wager he’s sampled some nectar in his time. I bet he―”

“Midna,” Zelda said, “please, shut up.”

“Fine, fine.” The countess was still smirking, though, and Paya looked like she was about to combust from the horror of it all.

“I have to go deal with the flowers,” she said. “I’ll be back soon. Just… order whatever you want from the kitchen, and don’t harass my staff!” With a last scandalized look, she turned and fled from the room. Midna watched her go, then shook her head and make a  _tsking_ noise.

“It’s amazing that society hasn’t eaten that one alive yet,” she observed. Zelda smiled a little, then turned and assessed her friend. She’d known Midna since they were both girls: they (and Paya) had gone to the same elite private schools, then finishing schools, then university. But while Zelda’s family had kept her intentionally out of the limelight, Midna’s had thrust her into it. The Estate of Twilight was small, yes, but it was also by far the wealthiest of the noble estates, and Midna’s family was second only to Zelda’s in both age and wealth. And if the ancient and honorable family of Dusk couldn’t sit on Hyrule’s actual throne, well, they could sit on the throne of culture. Fashion, music, art… the Dusk family led every style in Hyrule, and Midna had taken up the mantle of countess with both aplomb and the flair that was unique to the Dusk family.

“How  _do_ you keep from getting eaten alive?” Zelda asked her friend as nonchalantly as she could. “By society, and the magazines, and everyone else?”

Midna turned and regarded Zelda, her head cocked thoughtfully to the side.

“A perfect manicure and fabulous shoes go a long way,” she said. “And bravery. You have to show them that you don’t care what they think of you. Nothing turns heads like courage.”

Zelda nodded, though she wasn’t sure she understood.

“My mother always said there’s a fine line between courage and recklessness,” she ventured.

Midna barked a laugh. “It’s true, and to be a style setter, you have to have a bit of both.” She patted Zelda once on the shoulder, sobering. “You’ll be fine. Everyone loved your father. They all want to love you as well. Just don’t screw it up, ok?”

“Sure,” Zelda said dryly. “Don’t screw it up. Great advice.”

“I know,” said Midna. “Now come on. Let’s go get some food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CM:** Yo, let's reverse Cinderella this shit.  
>  **Lyx:** You bet your ass we're fuckin' doin' it.


	2. Chapter 2

The brooch didn’t turn up.

Link sat at the long table in the staff meeting room, drumming his fingers. He’d checked everywhere ― everyone else had checked everywhere, too, when they had time. Surely it had to be somewhere, right? Jewelry didn’t just vanish, did it?

A hand waved in front of Link’s face. He sat up, shaking his head.

“Huh?”

“I said,” Granté repeated with exaggerated patience, “what’s with you today? You’re all glaze-eyed and you look like you didn’t sleep.” Granté studied Link’s face suspiciously. “When did you go home last night?”

“Late.” Once he’d gotten off work the day before, Link had taken a flashlight out and crawled around on his hands and knees in the dark, for  _ hours _ , hoping that the light would set off the telltale glitter of metal and gemstones that might make the brooch easier to spot. But he’d had no luck, and the growing accumulation of snow had made all his efforts moot. He’d felt foolish, and he hoped nobody had seen him, but it bothered him. The mystery girl was clearly so sad that the jewelry was gone. For some reason, he wanted to be the one to find it and make her smile.

Who  _ was _ she? Link had puzzled over that for hours as he’d laid in bed in his little apartment in Kakariko. He’d walked in on her yesterday with Miss Paya and that terrifyingly chic noblewoman, and he was rethinking his assessment of her as a nobody. She might have been some poor friend, perhaps a trusted maid, but with that bearing and that accent, he didn’t think so…

“Man, you really are hopeless today,” said Granté. He looked at Link for a moment longer, then shook his head. “Hey, did you hear about the princess? Apparently she’s―”

Just then, Pipit, the head of Miss Paya’s staff, strode into the room, clearing his throat. Pipit was new to the job, and had only been appointed to the coveted role of majordomo the summer before. This was his first Midwinter celebration, and he’d made sure everyone knew that everything had better go right, or there would be hell to pay.

“Listen up,” said Pipit as he took his place at the head of the table. Everyone straightened a bit in their seats. “We have a lot to do today, and a lot to cover, so we’re jumping right in. First: there’s been a report of a lost brooch. One of the guests has misplaced it, and thinks it might have fallen somewhere in the East Gardens, the East Wing, or the ballroom. It’s a very distinctive piece with a ruby firebird and Triforce crest.”

If they were rubies, then she wasn’t some poor friend, Link thought. But the Firebird-and-Triforce was a common enough sigil, worn by people wanting to curry favor with the royal family. So that didn’t narrow it down at all.

“― contact me immediately,” Pipit was saying, and Link forced himself to pay attention. Pipit looked around the table, then nodded. “Good. Next: I’ve been told that one of our dinner companions has fallen ill and will be unable to serve.” Dinner companions were Pipit’s fancy way of saying fancy escorts: it was their job to escort in single high-ranking men and women who didn’t want to engage in social politics by choosing between multiple offers of escort from their peers. Pipit glanced at a piece of paper. “The man is your height and weight, Link, and his uniform will likely fit you. You’ll be taking over his job in the evenings.”

Link blinked. Blinked again.

“I’ll be taking over what?” he asked, incredulous.

“You’ll escort in some fancypants gal,” Groose, the head of security, translated with a lazy wave of his hand. “Some rich broad who wants to avoid having to turn down a guy’s invitation for dinner date.”

“It’s a simple job,” said Pipit. “You’ll pick her up from her rooms, be charming, walk her down to dinner, take her to her seat, get her settled, and then go downstairs. Once dinner is over, you’ll come get her, escort her to whatever is happening next, and wait around on the edge of things in case she signals you. You might be called to dance with her once or twice, as well, though it’s highly unlikely. Will that be a problem?”

Put that way, an imbecile could do it. Link looked at his boss’ steely glare, swallowed, and shook his head.

“Not a problem at all, sir,” he said.

“Good,” said Pipit. “After this you’ll go to the seamstress in the basement to get your costumes fitted. Now, next on the list…”

As Pipit droned on, Link felt a sense of sick anticipation swirling in his stomach. Escort a wealthy single woman to dinner? Yes, it was a simple enough task, but Link didn’t know how to talk to wealthy women… or any women, really. Link wasn’t sure he could be charming if his life depended on it. It was one of the main complaints that… that  _ she _ had had against him.

_ You’re so serious all the time _ , she’d laughed, petting his cheek once.  _ Loosen up. Be charming. It won’t get you killed, you know. _

Link hoped that was the case. He’d have to be charming, polite, funny… not his usual awkward, bumbling self. If he said or did the wrong thing, he might cause offense, and then he’d be out of a job, and…

“Breathe, Link,” Granté whispered. “You’re going to do just fine.”

Fine. Yeah right. Link was so totally dead, and judging by the concern in his friend’s eyes, Granté knew it.

His assessment was only confirmed when, about half an hour later, he entered Miss Paya’s Wardrobe, an ominous room full of racks upon racks of age-old dresses, suits, costumes, shoes ―gods, so many shoes― and a veritable army of hats, purses and other knick-knacks. Stuffed to the brim in the basement of the big house, the seamstress’ workshop looked like the backstage area of a theater. No doubt entire generations of clothing were kept here, outdated and obsolete, to be shielded from the light of day until the pieces regained some sort of historical significance.

As Link pushed aside a particularly pink flounce, he seriously considered the possibility that he would have been better off claiming he felt sick.

“Gods! This stupid machine―”

A mechanical whir, a click, and then a decidedly terrifying SPROING sounded, and Link found himself dodging the treacherous flight of a metal needle, which landed somewhere over his shoulder, in a tangle of taffetas.

“Er, I’m looking for Miss Purah,” he said, to the diminutive little woman, who was now busy performing percussive maintenance upon her sewing machine, each hit punctuated by a colourful curse.

When the woman looked up at him, blinking, her glasses magnified her eyes in a way that reminded Link of an owl.

“You’re the gardener.”

“I― er― yes?”

“Right.” She pushed herself off of her padded stool, and Link realized she was much shorter than he’d thought. She barely reached the middle of his chest. Not that it kept her from scrutinizing him with the confidence of a violent Gerudo. From his booted feet (“Shameful!”) to his work shirt (“Hmph!”), she studied him, making commentary under her breath, until at last her eyes returned to his face, and her expression shifted, ever so slightly.

“Is that your real face?” She asked, critically.

Link frowned. “What? Yes. Of course it’s―”

Her fingers came up to pinch his cheek. “Not what I expected. But you’ll do.”

“Gee, thanks,” Link deadpanned.

“No, no, you misunderstand,” the tiny woman said, suddenly cheerful. “You’re very handsome. This is very good. Very exciting. I was bracing for disaster. A giant oaf. Never trusted Pipit to assess measurements accurately―”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Link said, “but I… Are  _ you  _ Purah?”

The little seamstress rolled her eyes, flopping her head limply backwards, much like an annoyed teenager. “Yes, darling, get with the program. I am Purah. And you are the gardener. And this is my workshop. And we need to get you fitted.”

“My name is L―”

“No, no, be quiet,” she said, snapping her fingers at him and turning away, returning to her sewing machine. “I am submerged with work and there’s no time for small talk.” She heaved a dramatic sigh. “Alright, handsome, let’s not waste time. Take your clothes off.”

Link inhaled. Paused. Looked down at her. “What.” It wasn’t a question.

“Your clothes. Or whatever those things are that you’re wearing. Not sure they qualify. Who dressed you? No― don’t say it, it was Malo Mart, wasn’t it? No, shut up, I don’t want to hear it. Just the sound of that name grates my ears. Be quiet.  _ Why  _ are you still dressed?”

“Uh. Is there some sort of changing room―”

She performed another dramatic sigh. But Link didn’t miss the flicker of her glance over him, and the briefest moue of disappointment, before she pointed to a curtained-off area behind her. “Down to the knickers, please.”

Knickers. Link rolled his eyes and strode off.

“What size shoes do you wear?” She asked, while he slid the curtain closed behind him and began to unbuckle his belt.

“Forty-two,” Link replied. “Or nine, if that’s the sizing you use―”

“Oh, good― Mr. Average, you are. Brilliant.” Her voice was moving back and forth beyond the curtain, sometimes muffled or fading. “Your colouring is different than Misko’s, so you’ll need a different suit for tomorrow ― something understated. Classy.”

“Aren’t all suits classy?” Link asked, pulling his shirt off over his head.

Purah dignified that question with a scoff, followed by a superior giggle. Fine, then, Link thought, grimacing to himself, while she went on mumbling to herself, out of sight.

“Where in the world did I put my tape― Oh, there it is.”

“You know,” Link said, stepping out of his trousers, “if you have more important things to do, I can always come back.”

“Oh, no. I’ve got nothing more important than this. Didn’t you hear? The companion who called in sick was the Princess’ very own hire. I’m told if she doesn’t get a replacement for this evening, she’ll have to contend with social requests from some of society’s most titled worms.”

Link braced himself on the wall of the changing cabin, ears suddenly buzzing. “ _ What _ ?”

“Are you hard of hearing, dear? I said, I need to get you fitted since you’ll be escorting the Princess―”

Link shoved the curtain aside, ignoring the catlike grin of satisfaction on Purah’s face. “ _ What _ .”

But Purah merely eyed him, from head to toe. “Oh, she’s going to like you,” she said, smiling.

Link strode out of the cabin, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, eyes wild. “I can’t escort the Princess.” That much seemed obvious. A  _ princess _ ! That was not in his job description. “I can’t…”  _ Converse. Be charming. Lighten up _ . “I can’t dance,” he finished, lamely.

This, however, did not phase Purah. In fact, Purah responded to this by cackling maniacally. “Oh, darling. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be practically a prince.” And then, wringing her fingers together with delight that boded ill, she said, “Now stand very still, handsome. Auntie Purah is about to make some magic happen like bippity-boppity-SNAP.”

* * *

 

“Take a deep breath,” Midna commanded. Zelda tried, but the display was less than convincing.

“I can’t go out there,” she said, instead, smoothing her clammy hands against the silk of her evening dress. “Duke Ghirahim is out there. And he’s going to want to enter the room with me on his arm if he sees me unaccompanied.”

“Paya said she was going to fix it,” Midna reminded her. In her black and blue slinky dress, she looked like the darkest night of winter itself, all deep sparkle and sensuality. By contrast, Zelda’s own attire was positively prim.

Proper, she reminded herself. The people would want to see class, not leg.

“This is the only evening you have to play nice,” Midna reminded her. “After tonight, Paya closes the door to journalists and you can spend the next two nights drinking to forget.”

Zelda would have killed for a nice hard shot of vodka right about then. Some sort of burning courage with which to brace herself. “I am going to look like a loser,” she said, calmly. “Now that Misko has called in sick, the whole world will see me all alone, or, worse, on the arm of a creep.”

“You don’t even  _ like  _ Misko,” Midna pointed out. “After the last formal event where he escorted you, you called him your ‘chatterbox of a human shield.’ Am I remembering that correctly?”

She was. Midna had a mind like a steel trap. Zelda grimaced.

“He’s annoying,” she agreed. “But he’s also pretty, and he doesn’t get any ideas above his station. How are they going to find someone on such short notice to fill his spot? His costumes are all here, so they have to find someone his height and weight, and even though Lanayru is a nice enough province, I don’t think there’s a surplus of well-trained escorts, and I don’t think there was enough to time to put a call in to the capital, find a suitable replacement, send him out here, get him through all the security checkpoints―”

Midna held up one exquisitely manicured hand.

“Darling,” she drawled, “you’re babbling. Breathe. Everything will be fine.”

Everything wasn’t going to be fine, Zelda wanted to rail. But of course, she wasn’t upset about Misko… Not really. She was mostly terrified out of her mind that tonight was her first official appearance as princess of Hyrule… soon to be queen… and she was going to choke up, and if she’d at least had Misko he would’ve mumbled something out of the corner of his mouth about what she was supposed to do, and she could do it, but now she wouldn’t even have that support, and this was going to be a disaster, and...

“Breathe,” Midna suggested again.

Zelda took a heaving gasp of air. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. She felt dizzy, lightheaded. She wanted to stagger over to a couch and plop down, but she couldn’t risk wrinkling her dress.

“And I have to take pictures,” Zelda moaned. She buried her face in her hands. “I have to walk on the red carpet and smile and look charming. I’m not charming! I’m… I’m awkward! I can see the headlines on the tabloids now: Princess Awkward!”

“That’s not catchy enough,” Midna said. “And for what it’s worth, if it looks like things will get really hairy for you, I’ll do something outlandish and steal the spotlight.” She waggled her brows. “I could have a wardrobe malfunction. Get caught in a compromising position. Say something rude to Lord Butler and give him a fit.”

Zelda peered up through her fingers.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Yes, but I’d expect you to pay me back.” Midna plucked at her dress, resettling it over her hips. “And you know how expensive my favors are.”

Zelda grimaced. The last time she’d owed Midna a favor, payment had included a private yacht, several bottles of very expensive champagne, and harem of handsome movie stars. Zelda’s father had given her quite the stern lecture after that one… mostly because the yacht had been his and the paparazzi had been involved.

“Only as a last resort, then,” Zelda finally said.

“Deal,” Midna agreed. As she did so, a knock sounded at the door. Midna strode over to open it, saying, “I bet this is your―”

The countess opened the door and stopped dead in her tracks, leaving the door between Zelda and whoever Midna was gaping at. Dread sank in Zelda’s stomach. Midna’s manners were polished to perfection. Nothing would cause her to react like that except the most utterly horrid monstrosity to ever exist. Zelda swallowed a moan. Why her…?

“Good evening, Highness,” said a mellow voice. It was a pleasant tenor, and soft, and a little familiar. “I’m here to escort you to dinner.”

Midna stared at whoever-it-was in the hallway for a moment longer, then flung the door wide open, turned, and wordlessly stalked off. Zelda smoothed her hands down her soft lilac gown, took a fortifying breath, and looked up.

Oh.

The handsomest man she’d ever seen stood out in the hallway, clad in the costume of a royal guard from several hundred years ago. White knee boots and gloves, red tunic, blue tabard, all trimmed with gold… how was it that the blue of the tabard perfectly matched his eyes, and the gold was the exact same hue as his hair? He looked like something out of a storybook or a daydream, and he was  _ here for her _ . And even more surprisingly, she recognized him.

She stared at him. He stared at her.

“I thought you were a gardener,” Zelda blurted, because what else could you say when faced with such perfection?  _ ‘Hi, please run away with me’ _ was a terrible opening line.

Her escort tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace.

“I am,” he said. “Normally. I’ve been conscripted.” He shook his head, then realized he was talking to someone powerful, and went pale. “Not that it’s a problem. I’m just… Uh....”

“He’s nervous because it’s his first time,” said Midna, who had apparently recovered her powers of both speech and innuendo. “Be gentle with him, Zelda.”

“Zel…” She could see him start to repeat the name, then trail off in horrified silence, mouthing the finish. Zelda wondered what it would be like to hear him say her name. He stared between Midna and Zelda, the blood slowly draining from his face. Something like horror dawned in his eyes as he stared at Zelda. She wasn’t sure whether the look made her want to laugh or cry.

“I’m sorry I neglected to introduce myself before,” she said. She dropped a neat little curtsey. The poor gardener looked like he might faint. “My name is Zelda Nohansen Harkinian Bosphoramus Hyrule, Crown Princess of Hyrule.” She smiled. “It’s nice to meet you formally.”

The gardener was nodding mechanically, his eyes glazed.

“It’s very nice to meet you, princess majesty,” he said. “My name’s Link.” He held out an arm woodenly. “May I escort you to dinner?”

In the corner, Midna cackled.

* * *

 

Link’s mind was spinning in circles like a drunken peahat. The girl from the garden ― the one with the missing jewelry ― the one he’d been thinking all manner of indecent things about ― she was the princess. She was Princess Zelda.

And he’d just called her ‘princess majesty’.

Link wasn’t one for prayer, but right about now it would be great if one of the Goddesses could bestir herself to fling a bolt of lightning down to earth and vaporize Link where he stood. In between cursing at her sewing machine and cackling over fabric, Miss Purah had coached him all day on his manners, and in his very first interaction with the princess, Link had totally bungled it.

And the princess, perfect creature that she was, merely smiled very gently. It made Link feel like the lowest, scrawniest, most insignificant worm. Scratch lightning bolts: he needed a legendary Biggoron to come squash him under its boot.

“We’ll go in last,” she told him. “Please, come and wait in here. The Countess’ escort has yet to arrive.”

“Yes, do come in,” said the terrifying countess. “Tell us all about yourself, Link the Gardener.” 

This was a trap. This was definitely, definitely a trap. But Link couldn’t refuse a direct order ― on that, Miss Purah had been very clear ― and so, praying he didn’t lodge his foot any further down his own throat, he stepped into the room. The door swung shut behind him, and he was absolutely certain that the thud it gave as it closed was the same sound that the final nail would make when it was driven into his coffin in… oh, about four hours.   
He wanted to tug at his collar, but didn’t. Gods, but this costume was itchy. He felt like he was about to crawl right out of his skin. He raised a hand to fuss with his hat, then stopped. He groped for pockets to shove his hands into, but couldn’t find any of those, either. So he opted for a parade rest, trying to ignore the terrifying countess’ snickers.

“What would you like to know about me?” he asked, and was proud that he didn’t squeak when he spoke.

“Let’s start with your shoe size,” said the scary countess.

Link felt his brows drawing together. He looked down.

“Is there something wrong with my boots? Miss Purah said I was perfectly average and that these should fit.”

“Perfectly average,” sighed the countess. “Shame.”

“Midna,” said the princess, admonishment in her voice. “Stop teasing him.”

“It was an honest question,” said the countess, holding up her hands in fake surrender. She was smirking, and Link had the whirling sensation that he’d missed something. Were they making fun of him…?

His sudden terror must have showed on his face because the princess smiled another of those gentle, perfect smiles at him. Goddesses, but she was beautiful: her hair had been braided with pearls and little white flowers, and hung down over one cream-pale shoulder. She wore a dress in an exquisite purple, made all the more elegant for its simple, modest cut. She wore no jewelry save for swaying drop earrings carved of the biggest amethysts Link had ever seen and rimmed in sparkling diamonds. She looked beautiful. Link should tell her so. That was what escorts were supposed to do, right?

He opened his mouth to speak.

“Lupinus,” he said.

The princess blinked at him a few times.

“Beg your pardon?” She asked.

Link kicked himself mentally. Idiot. Moron.

“Your dress,” he said. “It’s the exact color of a lupinus flower.” When she kept staring at him, he offered a what he hoped was a charming smile. “And in the language of flowers, lupinus means imagination.” She kept staring at him, and Link wished for a hole to crawl into. “It’s very pretty,” he finished lamely.

“Ah,” said the princess after a long moment. “Thank you.”

Link was spared any further embarrassment by another knock at the door. He answered it to see a very posh older gentleman standing outside.

“Lord Belari of Minish, here to escort the Countess of Twilight,” said the fellow.

“The academic?” Link heard the princess ask her friend in an undertone behind him.

“He’s a family friend,” the countess responded. Then she glided past Link, all dazzling darkness, smiling at the man. “Hello, Belari, dear. So good of you to come get me.” She turned and smiled at Link. The grin she gave to the princess was positively devilish. “Have fun, you two. See you at dinner.”

And with that, she swept down the hallway, leaving Link and the princess utterly alone.

The door clunked shut again. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“I’m sorry about―” he began, just as she said, “Please forgive―”

They both stopped and stared at each other a moment longer.

“What was it you wanted to say?” She finally asked him.

Link shook his head.

“You first, majesty.”

The princess smiled.

“It’s just highness for now,” she told him. “I won’t be a majesty until I’ve been crowned. Don’t worry about it, though,” she added, raising a white-gloved hand as he opened his mouth to apologize again. “I must confess I’m nervous too. I’m not used to these big events either.”

Link tried to think of a suitably reassuring response. But what did one say to reassure a princess?

Well, it didn’t matter. He had an apology to make.

“I’m sorry for not recognizing you yesterday,” he said. “In the garden. I didn’t realize that you were the princess,” he stammered.

Her beautiful smile turned sad. “That’s how my father wanted it,” she said. When it became clear she wouldn’t elaborate, Link spoke again.

“I’m sure you’ll do well tonight,” he hedged.

She shook her head. As she did so, the scent of the lilies in her hair washed over Link. White. That meant purity, or sympathy. The princess still seemed without words, so Link tried again.

“I’m sorry about your father,” he said gently.

Her big green eyes widened, then saddened.

“Thank you,” she said softly. She studied him for a long moment. “If this is your first escort session, is it safe to assume that you don’t know how to dance?”

Link grimaced, remembering several unfortunate attempts to learn to do so earlier that day using a mannequin as a partner. Judging by the cackling that had come from Miss Purah, the only value of the exercise had been entertainment, not education.

“Miss Purah tried to teach me earlier, but I’ve still got a bit to learn,” he said. “But― that is, if you require―”

She held up a hand again.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “Not tonight, at least. Partners for the formal dance on the first night are all arranged months in advance. However…” she tilted her head to the side. “You should come here tomorrow. We’ll practice your dancing then so you can escort me through the first dance tomorrow night.”

That was assuming he survived tonight's shift. Link wondered what it would take to get himself off of the escort job with minimal fuss and hassle. Not that the princess wasn’t beautiful, enticing, alluring, really everything he could ever want in a woman….

That was it. First thing tomorrow he was telling Pipit that there was no way he could do this job.

The princess was still waiting for a response. Link smiled.

“As you wish,” he said.

She smiled back at him, glanced at the clock, and held out her hand. Link took it and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, and tried not to think about how nice it felt to have her touching him.

“Chin up,” she told him as they left the room. “It’s time to walk down to dinner.” A spark of merriment came into her eyes. “If you’re as nervous as I am, then I propose we make a pact.”

“Oh?” Link asked, heart thudding. “What pact is that?”

“We’ll call the evening a success if neither of us throws up on the other’s shoes,” she said. “Do we have a bargain?”

“Deal,” Link agreed. “That’s a nice goal. I like that goal. It’s very realistic.”

“Thank you,” the princess said, smiling at him like she had in the garden the day before. Link felt his heart turn over in his chest, and smiled back at her instead of slamming his head against the wall as he so desperately wanted to.

He was in deep. Way too deep. There was only one way that this week would end, and that would be in his definite firing and probable death. But, hell, he might as well enjoy it.

And… the princess was getting nervous. He could tell by the way her grip was growing tighter and tighter on his arm as they neared the red carpet where the press would do their utmost to blind both of them with their flashbulbs. Outside the doors that led to the great hall― and the red carpet, beyond which laid the dining room― they paused. She took a jerky breath, and Link courted his own death by placing his gloved hand over hers.

“Chin up,” he parroted back at her in a sudden surge of bravery. “You’ve got this.”

She squeezed his arm once in gratitude.

“Thank you,” she said. Link lifted his hand away, and the princess nodded at the doormen. The doors swung open ― Pipit ran too tight of a ship for the doors to ever do something as uncouth as creak ― and together, Link and the princess walked into the light.

* * *

 

Three in the morning. The darkest time of night, as far as Link was concerned. And he had just finished returning his borrowed clothes to the wardrobe, donning his usual jeans and sweater with exhausted relief. Gods, but the evening had gone on forever. He was still parsing it.

The palace was winding down ― the last journalism truck had left only twenty minutes ago, the Princess and the terrifying countess were both safely ensconced in their respective suites, most of the palace staff had switched shifts and had begun cleaning up, and Link was, for the most part, unscathed.

Mostly. The evening continued to replay in his mind in bits and pieces, in disjointed fragments of polite conversation punctuated by moments of focused terror, all set in a palatial display of wealth and glitz.

The only thing he could remember in full was Zelda. The  _ Princess _ , he reminded himself.  _ Princess  _ Zelda. Princess Zelda with the lupinus dress and the sweet smile and the nervous habit she had of biting at her inner cheek whenever she was growing uncomfortable. By the third time he’d noticed that, Link had learned to instinctively approach, giving her a way out, and she’d greet him with a smile tinged with relief…

They’d developed a system: she did the talking, and he did the walking. He’d slowly walk her around the room, stopping when she slowed to chat, then offering her a smooth exit as soon as she grew antsy again. She hadn’t said anything, so Link presumed she was alright with it.

Still, decanting it all now, he felt the raw bundle of his insides twisting and writhing nervously in recollection. No one had spared him a second glance― no more, she had assured him, than they’d ever spared for Misko, her usual companion. And aside from that one incident with the pale-haired duke…

Link shut the door to the wardrobe with a click, ensuring it was locked, and paused.

Duke Ghirahim of Faron. At first glance, the man seemed… groomed. Well-kept. Lithe and harmless, if a little vampiric in his complexion. And his smile had been somewhat cold… but there was no explanation for the clear hesitation Link had felt on his arm when Zelda―  _ Princess  _ Zelda ― had seen him. Hardly a tug, and for any onlookers she might have barely broken her stride, but Link saw her looking, noticed the clear change in trajectory from the Duke, and steered the Princess of Hyrule to the women’s restroom.

Zelda ― _the_ _Princess_ ― hadn’t said anything about that either, but the relief on her face when she’d emerged to find the Duke in conversation with other people was unmistakable.

And now she was safely in bed, Link told himself, standing as he did in the darkened hallway, and hopefully they’d find a more suitable replacement for him in the morning.

He returned to the ground floor to find it in the midst of a different sort of activity― cleaning. A more subdued atmosphere hung over the place ― the music had been stopped, and no one seemed inclined to make much noise at this hour ― as the night staff moved efficiently from table to table, from room to room, collecting and dusting and stacking. They’d be back tomorrow night, and the night after that… Miss Paya’s Midwinter Ball was legendary in that respect.

And to think, until last year, Link had always kind of wanted to be part of it. As a gardener, he’d always watched the festivities from the outside, literally, and longed to one day get a taste of that sort of Midwinter refinement.

Standing now in the doorjamb to the wide double doors, he could hardly believe what had just happened.

“Link, good. I hoped you hadn’t gone home yet.”

Pipit’s voice was tired, but he hadn’t lost his professional edge. Link turned to look at the majordomo and straightened.

“Yes, sir?”

Pipit flipped a page on his clipboard, then sighed. “You did a good job tonight. Miss Paya wanted me to tell you that you did very well. You’ll get the necessary overtime bonus and a compensatory day off next month, to account for the night duty.”

Link blinked. “Oh.” Right. It was a job. “Thanks. I appreciate it―”

“Miss Purah wants you in wardrobe tomorrow at four,” Pipit said. “So you should go home and sleep.”

Link blinked. “Wait. Aren’t you going to find someone else to replace me?”

Pipit smiled. It was a rare sight. And then he plucked a small note card from his clipboard and handed it over. “You’ve been requested again, and I’m not the sort to commit treason.”

Confused, Link took the card from Pipit and watched him stride over to talk with some of the staff bussing dirty plates. Letting his eyes drop to the card in his hand, he blinked confusedly a few times.

_ Dear Link, Thank you so much for your presence tonight. Remember, dancing lessons! Be there at 11. _

The signature was just a flowing, elegant Z. It set his heart racing into a mad dash of absurd hope.

Which was stupid, he reminded himself. The princess was only preoccupied with not looking foolish, as she must. It was stupid to feel as excited as a teenager.

And worse: he knew better. This wasn’t going to end well. At best they’d part ways on friendly terms, and never speak again. At worst, he’d grow attached. And he remembered what growing attached could do to a person. It was bad enough to ruin Midwinter forever.

He’d had enough of ruin, in his humble opinion.

As he slipped on his winter coat and hat, Link tried to remember that he hadn’t changed. He was still the same man Hilda had abandoned. He was still the same person she’d accused of being too serious, not charming enough. He ought to know better than to open up, especially now.

Still… As the snow fell around him in the endless driveway, Link hesitated. His eyes went to the distant street, where his car was parked. And then they slid sideways, to the garden entrance.

He wasn’t a romantic. Not anymore. Hilda had cured him of that particular malady. So why was he hesitating?

It was late. There was a faint covering of powdery snow everywhere. And he wasn’t the only person responsible for the search, after all…

But his eyes went back to the front door of Miss Paya’s stately home, beyond which, he knew, countless men and women were working hard to make the holidays into something grand. And in which a certain young woman dreamed of finding a royal heirloom. He might well have been a learned cynic, but the thought tugged at something inside of him that he’d sworn he would never indulge again.

_ Be charming, for once _ , Hilda’s ghost whispered, tauntingly. In another life, he might have promised to buy her a new piece of jewellery. After all, he was tired. It was late. It was cold. And no one would ever find a lost brooch in those gardens if it kept snowing like this.

Except maybe someone who knew the gardens better than anyone else.

“I’m an idiot,” he muttered to himself.

He shook his head, focused on the street again.

Then sighed.

And, begrudgingly, headed into the gardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyx:** "Bippity-boppity SNAP"?! There's many reasons why I love you, and this just made the list.  
>  **CM:** I just wanna say I love everything you do and you are my favourite.


	3. Chapter 3

When Link’s alarm went off at nine the next morning, he rolled over, cursing, and considered throwing his phone against the wall. He’d gotten home far, far too late, and fallen into bed for a few short hours of exhausted, dreamless sleep. He still hadn’t found Zelda’s ― nope, the princess’― lost brooch, and had resigned himself to the fact that someone was going to have to go out there with a metal detector… either that, or it wasn’t in the garden.

Which begged the question, then: where  _ was _ it?

No matter. He’d been out late, gotten home late, and probably smelled like he’d been rooting around in the mud and snow all night, which he had been. Groaning, he rolled over in bed, grabbed his phone, and dismissed his alarm ― and then saw that he had no small number of unread text messages.

Squinting blearily at the screen, he opened them. The name at the top of the list caused him to jerk awake instantly:

_ Ravio _ .

Anger coiled through Link’s stomach at the sight.

Ravio had been Link’s best friend. While Link had never had a brother,  he’d thought that he and Ravio had a closeness like brothers… but clearly the feeling hadn’t been the same. After all, Ravio had run off with Hilda and apparently never given a second thought to what it would do to Link to lose both his girlfriend and his best friend. Link thought about deleting the message, but as he went to swipe, his tired fingers fumbled and instead he opened the text.

_ Dude, saw you in the paper! Can’t believe you’re hanging out with royalty!! _

Link sat upright at that, any lingering tiredness gone. He backed out of the message from Ravio, then looked at his other texts. It seemed everyone who’d ever known him ― friends, former coworkers, even people from the orphanage ― had seen pictures of him escorting the princess. They’d seen him in the paper. On the news. Online.

Link paused, his fingers hovering over a text from Aryll. She was a girl a few years younger than him. They’d grown up in the orphanage together, and even though Aryll had been adopted by a family when she was a young teenager, they’d kept in contact. Out of all the people from Link’s childhood, he was the only one he still cared about keeping in touch with. She’d texted him, too:

_ Did you get a promotion and not tell me? Call me! _

Link flopped back to lie on his narrow bed and stared at the ceiling. He dialed Aryll’s number and blinked at the plaster above him. She answered after two rings, and sounded breathless.

“Link! I go away for two weeks and this is the kind of trouble you get into?”

“Hello, Aryll. It’s nice to hear from you. How was your vacation in the Great Bay?”

“Fine, fine,” said Aryll. Link could practically see her in his mind’s eye, waving her arms impatiently and pacing. She was almost definitely pacing.  “Termina is lovely this time of year. Much warmer than Hyrule. We can talk about that some other day. Why didn’t you tell me you’d become an escort?”

“It’s not a permanent thing,” Link said tiredly. “They had to replace the princess’ usual guy on short notice and I fit the costume.”

“Well, you look really good in it,” Aryll said. “Good enough that you’ve got fan clubs now.”

“I’ve got what?” Link rubbed the top of his head, mussing his greasy hair.

“Fan clubs! Plural! There are groups on the royal-watching boards and social media dedicated to ‘The Princess’ Mystery Man!’ Everyone wants to know who you are!”

“I’m sure not  _ everyone _ .” 

“Everyone,” Aryll repeated with heat. “Or anyway, practically everyone that matters. Just you wait: your door’s going to get broken down by every modeling agency in Hyrule, and movie studios are going to be calling you.”

“I’m just a gardener,” Link said tiredly.

“Well they don’t know that! They think you’re a royal escort, and you know how much crossover there is between escorts and the entertainment business!”

“Actually, I don’t.” Link’s phone buzzed again in his hand ― probably another text. “Is there?”

Aryll made a frustrated noise.

“You’re worthless!”

“Thanks.” Link glanced at his phone screen, checking the time ― he really needed to get moving. “It was nice talking to you, and I’d like to talk more, but I need to get ready for work.”

“Go, go,” said Aryll. “Shoo. Just remember your friend from the orphanage when you’re all rich and famous.”

“Like you’d ever let me forget,” Link chortled. “Bye, Aryll.”

“Bye! And call me!”

Link hung up. His phone buzzed again. He silenced it, then decided to simply turn it off. He got up, made his bed, tidied up his little apartment, and then stumbled off to shave, brush his teeth, and take a shower. He needed to be clean and tidy for his big day of dancing lessons with Z― the princess.

At 10:45, Link pulled into his employee parking spot, flipped down the driver’s side visor of his car, and took one last look at himself in the mirror. He’d taken a bit of extra care with his appearance today: combed his hair, pressed his nicest button-down, donned his most flattering (and only) pair of slacks. He resettled his blue and green striped scarf a little more securely over his charcoal gray coat, popped on a pair of earmuffs, pulled on his gloves, and made his way into the cold, warmed by excitement and nervousness.

Pictures of the princess were everywhere. Which meant that even though he hadn’t thought about it, pictures of  _ him _ were everywhere, even if he was only in the background, like furniture. It was more attention than he’d ever had in his entire life: Link, a nobody from nowhere with no family. But now, even if only for a few days, he was somebody. He was Link, escort to the princess of Hyrule.

And that same princess was going to teach him to dance.

He only hoped that she was a more forgiving teacher than the tiny and terrifying Miss Purah, who was part-seamstress, part etiquette instructor, and all tyrant.

As Link threaded through the gardens, he found himself confronted with a white, diamond-paned doublet. Link looked up, and up, and found himself facing the most tragically handsome man he’d ever seen. The duke. They'd been introduced last night.

What was his name…? Right, in spite of the haze of fatigue, Link remembered: Duke Ghirahim of the Duchy of Faron. The man’s haircut must have cost more than Link made in a month, and… was he wearing eyeliner…?

“Pardon me, sir,” Link said, trying to sidestep the duke. The duke, however, sidestepped with Link, staying in his way.

“Well, I suppose you’re pretty enough,” the duke said in a high, cultured voice. “But still. You’d do best to step out of the way, boy.”

Somehow, Link wasn’t sure the duke was talking about the garden path.

Link met the man’s eyes ― a brown so dark it was nearly black― and had to force himself not to take a step back at the blatant antagonism he saw there.

“The princess should be on my arm,” said the duke. “Not yours. You’re just some boy. Practically green.”

Link forced himself not to recoil at that one.

“I  _ am _ a gardener,” he said instead, because he rather liked the color green, though he was sure that the duke had meant to insult him with that one. “And I will continue to serve the princess for as long as she requires it of me.”

The duke looked Link up and down in disdain.

“Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it if you walk away from your escort duties,” he said.

“For the week?” Link asked, thinking of his overtime and what it would be like to be able to throw away that much money on a whim.

The duke sneered. “No, green boy. For the year.”

Link’s brain flatlined for a moment at that. It was… so much money... it was almost tempting…

Then he remembered, in a flash, the way the princess’ hand had tightened on his arm as the duke neared them the night before.

No. He wouldn’t accept. He liked the work. And he liked the princess. And there was something about this man that set Link so on edge that even if Link had hated his job, he wouldn’t have accepted. If it was up to Link, this duke would never, ever go near Zelda.

“It’s a very generous offer, sir,” Link said. “But I’m afraid I have to turn it down.”

“Hmph.” The duke scowled. “In truth, I very much prefer to be indulged with my full title: Lord Ghirahim. But I'm not fussy." He fixed Link with a venomous dark glare. “You’ll change your mind, boy. Make no mistake about that.” And with that, he turned on a bootheel and stomped off across the garden, a picture of exquisite disdain.

Link watched him go for a moment, shook his head, realized he was going to be late, and scurried off towards the house. He didn’t dare keep Ze― the princess waiting. 

He found her in her private parlour, having weaved through more preparations in and around the ballroom. She was back in those casual clothes that had fooled him until the evening before ― clothes that reminded him of a student, or a teacher’s assistant.

And yet, looking at her then, he was amazed at his own stupidity. Of course she was the princess of Hyrule. He’d seen her face a dozen times before, on the glossy covers of magazines, and had distantly classified her as a pretty woman, nothing more. Crossing paths with her in person had been such a remote possibility, such an impossible thing, that he’d never made the connection. But then, having spent several hours in her presence, he now recognized her deportment, her general manner of being that betrayed something  _ other _ , something higher.

In short, he was an idiot.

She uncurled herself from the settee and got to her feet with such a radiant smile that it nearly stopped him in his tracks. “Link! Oh, good. I feared you would run away.”

He managed a smile in return. “My mistake. I hadn’t realized that was an option.”

Her expression wilted and she gave him such a sincere look of dismay that he couldn’t stifle a laugh.

“Forgive me, your highness. I’ve had very little sleep.”

She bit her lip. “I hope the whole thing hasn’t been that upsetting. I’ve been informed the coverage for last night was generally positive.”

Her eyes slid towards the other figure reclining on a chaise. Countess Midna lowered her cell phone and eyed him in that slow way of hers, from toe to head, then nodded.

“No harm done, Mr. Mystery.” When Link grimaced, she added, “Don’t worry, I’ve told no one how average you are.”

“Midna,” Zelda chided. “Be helpful.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” the countess replied, returning her attention to the phone in her manicured hands. “I only do snark. If you wanted helpful, you ought to have asked Navi, from that geography elective you had. Or Fi, from your statistics class.” Her eyes widened and a slow grin pulled at her lips. “Now here’s another glorious re-Quip from Traysi: ‘I don’t know who he is and I don’t care, someone get me his number.’”

Link frowned, but Zelda raised a hand to rub at the bridge of her nose. Then, wincing, she glanced back at him. “Ignore that. The interest will fade soon enough.”

“ _ ‘Choke _ me, Mr. Knight,’” Midna quoted again, affecting a pitched, breathless tone.

Link spluttered. “What?”

Midna motioned innocently to her cell phone. “I am merely the vessel for public opinion as voiced on Quipper. Here’s a delightful little tidbit from Lonely Arrow Girl: ‘Costume unnecessary, can objectify him just fine if naked.’”

“Are they talking about…”

“You,” Zelda said, dryly. “They’re talking about you.” Link glanced at her, feeling his stomach sinking. Her expression was sympathetic. “If you wish to back out of this, I will not blame you. There’s a reason we  _ pay  _ people to do this.”

“But I―” He glanced down at his best trousers. They were a little frayed at the hem. “I’m not… I’m nobody.” Then, looking back up at Zelda, he asked, “Are you sure I can give you what you want, your highness?”

Midna made a noise, but Zelda did not even spare her a glance.

“You did a wonderful job last night,” she said. Again, Midna made a noise, and Zelda bent down, lifting her slippered foot, then chucked her left slipper in Midna’s direction without looking, missing by a few feet. It still silenced the countess. “I would much, much rather have you at my side again tonight. I feel far more comfortable talking to you than I do talking to most of the guests. You’d be a welcome reprieve.”

Link ignored the spread of warmth that nested inside of him. Suddenly too embarrassed to look at her directly, he strode over to the place where her slipper had landed and picked it up. It was well-worn, cheaply-made and comfortable, to judge by the wear on the insole.

He returned it to the princess without ceremony, and she accepted it mutely, though she did not slip it back on.

“I― I know I am asking for your presence,” she said, to the hardwood floor, “but please, please feel free to say no. I shall think no less of you if this is too much. It’s too much for me too. And if you’re losing sleep over this―”

“I can stay,” he interrupted, embarrassed, “To be exact, I didn’t― I didn’t hear about any of the gossip until this morning. I actually―” Spent part of the night in the snow and the cold looking for your lost brooch, like a moron. “I, uh…”

“Our poor gardener has many quests to see to,” Midna said, slyly. “Or was that not you I saw brushing snow off of benches in the East Garden in the wee hours of the morning?”

_ Damn it all _ . Link tensed up, guiltily. “I thought the house was soundly asleep,” he said, smiling at the countess with what he hoped  _ wasn’t  _ a murderous glint in his eye.

Midna shrugged. So much for intimidation.

“Link,” Zelda said, with an edge of anger. “Is that true? You shouldn’t― Please don’t do that again. You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Link said, embarrassed. “I didn’t find it. It’s probably not there, anyway. Do you remember where you saw it last?”

Zelda sighed, and used the hand that still held her slipper to gesture  for him to sit. Link nervously refused, putting his hands behind his back. “It could have fallen out of my pocket, or it could have been plucked from my drawers when Paya’s staff cleaned the room.” She stopped herself, then looked at him with horror. “I did not mean to imply that any of your colleagues are thieves― forgive me.”

Link shook his head. “None taken, your highness. But you seemed fairly sure you’d dropped it in the garden.”

“More accurately,” she said, “I hoped desperately that it had fallen in the garden. The garden is the only place that other guests don’t visit.” She sighed, and looked mournfully down at the slipper in her hand. “The truth is I trust Paya’s gardeners far more than I trust any of her Midwinter guests.”

Midna cleared her throat. Zelda rolled her eyes.

“Present company excluded. Gods, Midna, you’re like a child.”

“Children don’t get to read the terrible things I’m reading right now. ‘By the time I’d be done with him, there’d be no mystery left about―’”

“Let’s dance,” Zelda loudly proclaimed, and Link saw her cheeks were flushed adorably. “And if she speaks again, ignore her. Royal decree.”

“Yes, your highness,” he said. On the chaise, Midna cackled.

Zelda put her slipper back on, then approached him and ran her hand over his arm. It caused a cascade of shivers up and down his spine. Then, gingerly, she extended his left arm out, placing her hand in it. “Left arm, up.” Then, with her other hand, she reached for his right wrist and brought it around her back. “Upper back,” she said, as he stood, stiffly, uncomfortably aware of their sudden proximity. “Modern styles often let the man’s arm fall to the small of the back, or even to the hips, but in a formal setting, higher is better.”

Higher is better, Link repeated to himself, ignoring how close his arm was to her breast, and how fragile she felt, and how warm her hands were.

And then she stepped forward, and pressed her body to his, slightly offset, so that their legs remained free. Only Link couldn’t think of his legs right then. She was...

“It will be your task to lead,” she explained, nervously, from under her lashes. Why was she nervous? He was definitely the clumsiest of them both. He had to be. “But you need not expect difficult steps. If you can keep the pace and watch where I’m looking―” She turned her head left, then right, elegantly, to demonstrate, although all Link could see was the pretty column of her neck, “then you’ll know where I would prefer to be led.”

“It’ll be easier than trying to remember the full dance,” Link agreed.

She smiled. Her whole face lit up in the motion, stunning him. “Yes, exactly. Can you keep time?”

“I think,” Link nervously croaked.

“Let’s give it a try,” she said, breath shallow. Clearing her throat, she glanced at the countess. “Midna? Would you…?”

Midna pressed a button on a tiny remote, and from the room’s speakers the opening strains of a valse began to sound.

“Merely step forward,” Zelda whispered, “and I shall follow.”

As the music’s introduction began to swell, she tapped his shoulder. And Link moved, pressing against her.

The princess followed his lead, stepping away, as she had promised. One, two, three, they moved across the varnished floor, merely walking in time to the music.

“Good,” she said. “One foot at a time. Slowly. You can try to do it in half-time, just to get the paces. Our movements are mirrored in this valse.”

Link’s eyes went down to look at his feet, and encountered cleavage. He immediately looked back up at the far wall. “Uh―”

She laughed. “Look.” Stepping apart to allow some space between them, she tapped her foot. “Lead with the right foot,” she explained, “and allow the other foot to join as you turn.” Then, closing the space between them again, she guided him, one motion at a time, letting his legs press against hers, almost as bait, before removing herself and performing her own motions.

It was… difficult. And sensual. And excruciating in every way. More than once, Link fumbled his steps, and more than once he lost his balance. And more than once, he tried to ignore the press of her body, the languorous slide of their movements.

When the music slowed, stopped, and switched to a new track, Zelda stepped back, breathless.

Immediately, Link ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I’m really no good at this.”

“No,” Zelda said. “You’re doing great, actually.” She glanced at Midna, who had observed the entire exchange in silence. Link wanted to thank her for keeping her sardonics to herself. “Isn’t he, Midna?”

“Unquestionably,” Midna said, without a hint of irony. “As I recall, it took you weeks before getting the reverse turn right. I’d say he’s a complete natural.”

They were being kind. Link had definitely mucked it up on multiple occasions. But Zelda’s smile was pleased. Very pleased. And he liked seeing that look on her face far more than he cared to admit.

Now if only he could find that brooch―

“Care to go again?” Zelda asked, stepping close, with familiarity that made his chest feel narrow and hot.

He opened his mouth, closed it, cleared his throat, and then managed a weak, “Yes, your highness.”

And he hoped, desperately, that she did not notice how fast his heart was beating. Again.

* * *

After a short, late lunch, Link made his excuses and left, and Zelda tried hard to hide her disappointment.

“Well, he’s right, you know,” said Midna, rising from her chaise and stretching out every inch of her long, tanned frame. “He is keeping you from your social duties, and I’m sure he’s got job responsibilities aplenty without having to dress up in a monkey suit for you every night.” The wicked glint in Midna’s eyes belied the harshness of her words, but Zelda still felt bad.

“Oh,” she exhaled. “I hadn’t even considered ― I should find him and apologize―”

“You’re doing no such thing,” Midna said, snagging Zelda at the elbow as she made a beeline for the door. “You’re going to put on a proper afternoon dress and your best pearls, and you’re going to pull your hair back, and you’re going to go laugh and mingle and socialize.”

“But―”

“No buts,” said Midna with finality as she towed Zelda out of the private parlor and into the depths of the suite. “You may be the leader of the country, but I’m the leader of the social set, and I can assure you that if you don’t put in appearances, people will notice. They’ll think you think you’re better than them and they’ll start to resent you, and trust me, you don’t want that.”

“But I―” Zelda tried again as they arrived in the bedroom.

“Prove it.” Midna pushed Zelda at the vanity, then wandered into the closet. “Go. Laugh. Smile at everyone.”

“Even Ghirahim?” Zelda asked unhappily as she sank into her seat and looked at her reflection. Oh dear: her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks were pink, her lips were curved into a smile. She looked like she was falling in love.

Which was preposterous, of course. She was just tired from… from dancing. She’d exerted herself. Even though they’d had lunch between dancing and now. That was all it was. Residual exertion and… and fruitcake. Zelda dutifully grabbed her hairbrush and began working.

“You especially have to smile at the duke,” Midna called out from the closet, her voice a little muffled by fabric. For all that it was a three-day party ― bookended by a few days of leisure ― Zelda’s maids had packed what seemed like her entire wardrobe. She was expected to change clothes multiple times a day, never be seen in the same article of clothing twice ― not even her coat!― always have coordinated gloves, hats, jewelry, even shoes… “Aha!”

Midna came back out of the closet holding a bulky black garment bag labeled: “Day Two - Afternoon Tea”. She hung it on a hook on the back of the door, unzipped it, and pulled out the paper tucked into the inner pocket.

“Let’s see… your stylist wants you in the Hôvér heels today and your Zora sapphires…” she muttered, and went back into the closet. “Zelda? Is your safe combo still the same?”

“Yes,” Zelda said as she fought with a particularly stubborn bobby pin.

Zelda heard a few beeps in the closet, followed by a click. A moment later, Midna came back with a black velvet tray. Atop it sat two perfect sapphire stud earrings and a sapphire brooch swirled in the design of the ancient Spiritual Stone of Water. The jewelry was deceptively simple, and hideously expensive. Zelda grimaced at it. She hated wearing expensive things.

“Heels, heels, heels…” Midna muttered, vanishing back into the closet for a third time. “Anyway, as I was saying: yes, you have to be nice to the duke. I know he’s a sleaze and a lowlife, but you have to be classy, and that means not snubbing your peers.”

“But it would be so nice to snub him,” Zelda moaned. “Ghirahim is so irritating. I have never met someone who took so much care with their appearance and manners, and so little care with their character. The duke is rotten to the core.”

“Welcome to the nobility,” Midna said, emerging from the closet a final time with a pair of hideously expensive, very fashionable heels in hand.

Zelda had finished twisting her hair back in her trademark sleek chignon. When she was a girl, she’d worn her hair braided around her head… until Midna had told her it looked provincial. Then she’d tried wearing her hair half up, and Midna had insisted she looked antiquated. So now she wore it carefully pulled back. It was a more mature, serious look ― one she hated ― but Midna insisted it made her look regal and capable.

Zelda checked in the mirror to make sure not a hair was out of place, and then began the process of spraying it into a hard, immovable helmet. Ah, the glamour of royalty, she thought, trying not to inhale the fumes.

“It’s only for a few days,” Midna said as she fished a pair of compression pantyhose out of a drawer and began expertly checking them for snags, runs, and holes. Her impish face turned serious. “But you do need to start getting more comfortable with these sorts of events, Zel. Everyone has given you space to mourn your father, but…”

That but hung in the air like heavy black smoke.

“I know,” Zelda sighed as she finished her hair. She stood from the vanity, then began unbuttoning her blouse. “You’re right. Very well then, Midna. Proceed with the torturing.”

Zelda’s dress was a deceptively simple nude sheath. Its boat neck, three-quarter sleeves, and tea-length hem were all trimmed in navy fabric, which perfectly matched her brooch. Under the sheath went a silk skirt, as well as compression stockings that made Zelda feel like her abdomen had been vacuum-packed. Midna helped Zelda into her tottering heels, then stood back to admire her handiwork as Zelda slid her earrings in.

“Regal and understated, as always,” Midna said, as proud as though she’d personally designed Zelda’s outfit for the afternoon. “My turn.”

Midna had brought her own outfit into Zelda’s bedroom before the dancing lessons started, and now shimmied into a dress of a red so dark it was nearly black. It had a daringly low neckline and a waist so tight that Zelda wondered if Midna would split a seam when she bent over. She added black pearl earrings and a loop of black pearls around her neck, stepped into black heels, and held out her arms.

“How do I look?” the Countess of Twilight asked.

“Positively daring, Lady Dusk,” Zelda answered, feeling downright drab in her own nude and navy ensemble. 

“Good,” said Midna. She looped her arm through Zelda’s. “Let’s go face the lizalfos.”

Coiffed and armored, they made their way to the West Parlor. It had a lovely view of the snow-dusted gardens, which glittered in the golden afternoon light. The parlor was already filled with guests who glittered and murmured and mingled.

A waiter passed by with a round tray. Zelda and Midna each reached out and grabbed delicate crystal champagne flutes when the waiter paused before them. Midna immediately raised hers to her lips. Zelda held hers like a shield in front of her as she took in the room. She wasn’t intimidated… not precisely.

More overwhelmed. All those egos in such a small space made her feel like she was trapped in a crystal coffin.

“Here come the vultures,” Midna murmured into her champagne. Zelda followed her gaze. The Seer twins were making their way over. Zelda didn’t mind Lady Lana Seer, who was kind and soft-spoken, if prone to bouts of intolerable enthusiasm. Lady Cia, though, was the worst sort of socialite: glitter on the outside, festering poison within.

“Highness,” she said, dropping a little curtsey to Zelda. She looked at Midna with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Your Ladyship.”

Zelda and Midna acknowledged them.

“It’s good to see you, Lady Cia,” Zelda said. “And you, Lady Lana,” she added, looking at Lana, who smiled.

“Are you enjoying the festivities, Highness?” Lana asked in her sweet voice.

“I am,” Zelda said. “I have not had the pleasure of attending one of Miss Paya’s midwinter parties before, and I find myself enjoying the experience thus far.”

“Lanayru Heights Park is lovely this time of year, isn’t it?” Lana asked, a sparkle coming into her blue eyes. She clasped her hands to her chest in a girlish display of delight. “All that snow, and Mt. Lanayru in the distance… it’s like something out of a winter fairyland.”

“Duke Ghirahim has planned an ice skating sojourn at the legendary Spring of Wisdom for tomorrow morning, just after breakfast,” Lady Cia said. Her eyes fixed on Zelda with an intensity that was unnerving. “Perhaps you’d deign to join us, Highness?”

Zelda would rather eat broken glass.

“That’s an awfully long drive, isn’t it?” she said instead. “I am sorry, but I don’t have the time. I need to prepare for the ball.”

“Nonsense,” said Lady Cia. “We’ve chartered helicopters, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Midna echoed dryly.

Zelda didn’t want to go. She really didn’t want to go. That must have been apparent on her face because Lady Cia’s smile took on a mean edge.

“And we all know that you spent all that time at university working on your master’s in… what was it… Religious Studies? It would be so lovely to have you there to educate us on the historical significance of the Spring of Wisdom.”

“I hardly think the princess needs to use her degree to act as tour guide for you, Lady Cia,” Midna purred. “The history of the spring is well known. Perhaps if you’d studied a little harder at university and spent a little less time getting yourself splashed across the front of tabloids, you’d know it for yourself.”

Lady Cia’s expression went venomous for one second, then smoothed.

“La, but you are droll, aren’t you, Your Ladyship?” she asked Midna. She turned a razor smile on Zelda. “I hope you’ll both join us tomorrow. It would be such a delight. Oh, look Lana ― that funny little intellectual is waving at you. I wonder what he could want?”

Zelda looked. Lord Belari was waving at Lana, who disentangled herself from her sister’s arm.

“He promised to loan me a book,” Lana said brightly. “If you’ll pardon me, Your Highness, Your Ladyship…?”

“I actually would quite like to go speak with Ashei over there,” said Midna, nodding at the legendary female athlete who looked like she was trying to hide behind a curtain. “Princess, perhaps you’d like to come with me? I don’t think the two of you have been introduced.”

“That would be lovely,” Zelda said. She gave Lady Cia her best smile. “It was so delightful speaking with you, Lady Cia. Excuse me.”

She and Midna strode off. Lady Cia, abandoned by both her sister, the princess, and the countess, looked for a moment as though smoke would start coming out of her ears. Then she snagged a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and stalked off in the direction of Duke Ghirahim.

“What a viper,” Midna murmured. “You’ll like Ashei, though. She’s got no manners whatsoever.”

As they neared the athlete ― and the large window looking out over the gardens ― Zelda saw a group of gardeners, bundled up and huddling through the cold. Her heart gave a wistful pang. She didn’t see Link among their number, and she felt guilty for it: as bitterly unpleasant as it was out there, she was sure he’d be happier running about in nature than parading around indoors like a decorative bauble. But she’d only take him away from his duties for a few more days, and then he’d be free to back to his plants and his snow, and she… she would go back to Hyrule castle…

The thought made her unaccountably sad.

Out in the garden, a handsome man was ordering the other gardeners. He had a floppy mop of blonde hair and a pointed, cheerful face. One of the gardeners said something, and the man shook his head, then gave some ridiculous gesture that Zelda couldn’t help but smile at. Then the man saw something and perked up, a big grin spreading over his face. Zelda watched in curiosity. Another man strode up to the gardener, who threw his arms wide and gave the fellow a hug and a hearty clap on the back. When they pulled apart, Zelda realized that the other man was Link, and he was smiling uncomfortably and rubbing the back of his neck.

Out in the cold, he looked alive, pink-cheeked and grinning. His blue eyes were sparkling as he said something, and the other man laughed. Zelda felt that pang in her stomach again.

Yes: once this whole event was over, she and Link would go their separate ways, and Link would be happier without her in his life. It was stupid of her to think that maybe she’d found a friend in him. He was clearly a man of simple likes and values, and he probably hated her ― thought her unaccountably selfish ― for demanding so much of his time. 

Feeling like the worst sort of scum, Zelda fixed a smile on her face and focused her attention back on what was happening around her. Midna had finished greeting Ashei, and turned to Zelda, smiling, to make the introductions.

Zelda was courteous. She was warm and kind: in other words, a perfect princess. And if it felt like her heart was as frozen as the garden beyond the windows, well, nobody would ever know it but her.

* * *

 

“What in the world is  _ that _ ?”

Purah frowned, looking down at the garment in her hands. It looked like a scrap of leather, bone and fur, patched together, scarcely enough to cover a man. “What? Oh, don’t worry about this, it’s…” She grumbled something to herself ―Link hardly made out the word ‘barbarian’― then put it down. “Nevermind, wishful thinking. Have you brought black socks like I asked?”

Link pulled up the end of his pant leg and showed them off. “There’s a hole in the heel of my right sock, but no one will see that, right?”

“Gods, it’s like dealing with a child of the forest. No, no one will see the hole in your sock. You should buy new socks, though.” She hopped off her stool and went to a rack of clothes, mumbling more inaudible things.

Link smiled at her as sweetly as he could. “Ah, Purah,” he said, feigning fondness, “you’re like a mother to me.”

She made a retching noise from beyond the racks of clothing. “I’m not  _ old _ , damn it. I have Sheikah blood in me, our hair is always this pale.” She poked her head out from between garment bags. “And if you don’t watch it, I will contact your mother and let her know you are woefully unequipped for socializing.”

Link felt his smile grow crisp, and he averted his eyes, trying to laugh it off. “Good luck with that, the orphanage sought my mother for years.”

He heard the sudden stillness in Purah’s movements. Then, she said, “Oh, honey… Link. I’m sorry. I didn’t―”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. “I’m over it.” Mostly.

She returned with a black garment bag and a shoebox. “What do you usually do for the holidays? If… If you don’t mind me asking.”

He watched her unzip the bag, relieved that it contained no leather or fur. “I used to spend Midwinter with friends. And my ex…” He cleared his throat. “I guess this year I’ll have a beer with Granté. Buy myself a turkey dinner, watch movies. Maybe I’ll come to the staff party. I don’t know.” Midwinter’s Eve would probably be spent here, escorting the princess. There was that, at least. And then the actual day… Well. He’d try not to think about it too much.

Purah didn’t say anything. Link regretted being honest. It sounded too much like self-pity.

“I’ll figure something out,” he said, smiling, to relieve the awkwardness.

She didn’t reply to that. Instead, she said, “Your plans won’t matter if you irritate me, anyway. That’d be it for you.”

He laughed, relieved that she was making jokes. “Noted, ma’am.”

“Now  _ please  _ take your clothes off.” She grinned. “Slowly, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m going to the changing room,” Link said, lifting the clothes out of her arms.

“ _ Fine _ ,” she dramatically sighed. “Be that way.”

The clothes for the night were thankfully normal: modern evening wear. A crisp white button-down shirt, a perfectly-cut vest ― apparently, Purah had taken the liberty of making adjustments ― with a matching jacket and trousers. Deep blue, it looked like, though Link had to strain his eyes to see it under the fluorescent light. At first glance, they merely seemed black. His tie was dark blue, with gold accents. The shoes were polished leather and brand-new, and Link gave a few toe curls to get a feel for them.

When he emerged, Purah was nowhere to be seen. A glance at the workshop clock and he felt… foolish. He was excited. Excited to go back upstairs, to rejoin the princess.

His thoughts returned to the Duke of Faron. For all that the Countess Midna was full of asperities, Link thought she at least had a good core. But Duke Ghirahim had caused nothing but discomfort. And he’d offered Link a substantial amount of money to not wear these clothes tonight. Why? Did he really think Link’s presence was… unworthy? Did he think that he tainted their glittering assembly with his mere existence?

But no. Duke Ghirahim had clearly expressed jealousy. It wasn’t surprising, in a way. Princess Zelda was still unmarried, and anyone who won her heart would win the throne… But Link doubted that the duke would earn her affections by being so… snake-like.

No, what the princess needed was a friend. Like him.

Not that he would dare presume.

Standing alone in the wardrobe, Link suddenly had the distinct feeling that he was grasping much, much higher than his station. It was an unsettling thought, not least because of the thrill of…  _ hope _ that coursed through his veins.

Where was Purah? He desperately needed to be brought back to the ground.

She returned some minutes later, looking breathless, and hurried up to him, keening.

“Uh, Purah?”

Her eyes were bright and her small hands came up to pinch his cheeks. “ _ Look  _ at you! So handsome! So dashing!”

Link shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Thanks?”

“You,” she said, with satisfaction, “will be perfect.” She ran a hand over his tailored sleeve. “Do you like the colour? I picked it out  _ months  _ ago, but wasn’t sure it would work with Misko’s colouring. It looks great on you, though. She said she’d wear blue.”

“I guess.” Zelda was wearing blue? He ignored the flip-flopping in his chest. “I like that it’s more contemporary. Yesterday’s outfit made me feel like an extra in a period piece.”

Purah smirked. “Well, enjoy the normalcy for tonight, but don’t forget tomorrow is the masque. That will be a whole other set of sleeves.” Link desperately hoped the leather and furs he’d seen her working on were not his costume for the morrow. “At least you’ll be able to dance comfortably for now.”

“For now?”

She smirked. “For now. Now  _ off  _ you go. Never let it be said I don’t deliver on time.”

“Thanks, fairy godmother,” Link deadpanned.

She grinned broadly at that. Link turned, collecting his watch― when she gasped.

“ _ No _ . No  _ cufflinks _ ? What is  _ wrong  _ with you?”

“Er―”

She raced to a desk of drawers, rifling through a pile of small boxes, muttering to herself. “A fully grown man in a suit, no cufflinks. Who has ever heard of such a thing― hah!” Link startled. “Here we are!” She sing-songed.

She returned with a small box containing two pins, Triforce-shaped, and expertly arranged his cuffs.

“And then there’s the tie-pin, of course,” she said, retrieving a similarly fashioned pin and neatly placing it on his tie, completing the look. “Now try not to lose these,” she advised. “They’re twenty-four carats apiece.”

“I’ll try not to get mugged on the way to the princess’ apartments.”

She smiled. “Right. And just so you know, I’ve just gotten permission for you ― if you’re too tired to drive home, after, you’re welcome to sleep on the cot I have back there.” She motioned. “Miss Paya understands your schedule is somewhat… unpleasant. No one will bother you until morning.”

Link blinked, feeling a swell of gratitude. “Oh,” he said, faintly. Then, with sincerity, “Thank you, Miss Purah.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, now with less pep. “You’re doing her a big favour, you know. It’s the least I can do.” She inhaled, running a hand down his lapel. “Now go sweep our princess off her feet, you sexy piece of male flesh.”

“Shame,” Link said, rolling his eyes. “You almost didn’t sexually harass me for a moment there. You were  _ so  _ close.”

“Darling,” she said, sighing, “you have no idea.”

“Okay, ew,” he said, disengaging. “I’m out of here.”

Her earnest laughter followed him out into the hallway, and Link stifled a chuckle of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyx:** I know we're not supposed to coordinate, but... Just checking our brains are in the same place about the brooch: it's **[REDACTED]**?  
>  **CM:** Yes, that's where I was thinking of going with it. **[REDACTED]** , and then **[REDACTED]**.  
>  **Lyx:** Right, plus I thought **[REDACTED]** would be a good way to do it.  
>  **CM:** God, it's like we're the same person.  
>  **Lyx:** BE MY _SENSE8_ CLUSTER BUDDY  
>  **CM:** BUT I AM ALREADY


	4. Chapter 4

Paya looked exhausted.

“I thought the entire point of having staff was so that other people managed your events for you,” Midna observed as they sipped on their before-dinner cocktails. “I swear, Paya, we’ve barely seen you since the party started.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Paya said. “It seems like more has gone wrong this year than in all the other years combined. We had an improperly-weatherproofed pipe crack in Baroness Marie’s room and once it thawed out there was water gushing everywhere. Then there was a problem with the catering kitchen, and we had to call a specialist to deal with this one specific broken part because the range is an import, and his van broke down on the way up the mountain, and then―”

“Paya,” Zelda said gently, “Breathe.”

Paya took a gasping inhale. The bodice of her cream silk dress heaved, making the red embroidery around the neckline swirl like fire.

“I don’t know why I do this every year,” Paya finally confessed. “I mean, aside from the fact that I’m certain Gran’s ghost would rise from the grave and smack me over the head if I didn’t.”

Midna and Zelda shivered, soberly reflecting on  _ that _ particular specter. Common consensus held that the Lady Impa of Kakariko, head of the Sheikah Clan, was the most terrifying person to have walked the plains of Hyrule since Calamity Ganon. Even Midna’s bold, brash father had been afraid of her ― and Lord Zant had been notoriously lacking in both fear and common sense.

Over Paya’s shoulder, Zelda saw Link detach himself from the wall and make his way forward. He stopped a waiter, grabbed a glass of water, and continued on. Zelda resisted the urge to touch her hair (a tortured knot of braids and pearls) or her tiara, a delicate, wrought-gold thing made of diamonds and pale sapphires that perfectly matched her lagoon-blue watered-silk dress. Instead, she smoothed her gloved hands down her gown, unable to hide her self-consciousness. She’d been feeling nearly naked all night: her dress had thin straps, a high, square neck, a fitted cut down to the knees where it flared out into a mermaid skirt… and no back whatsoever. Zelda hated backless dresses: it made dancing with partners incredibly awkward when their hands touched her bare back.

But… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad when that dance partner was Link, later, after dinner.

The thought made her unaccountably warm, so she mentally imagined shoving it in the closet where she kept the rest of her uncomfortable feelings, and turned her attention to Midna and Paya.

“― forecasting heavy snowfall tomorrow night, too,” Paya was saying. “So I’ve had to order extra groceries just in case, and I’ve been trying to figure out where to put my cleanup staff overnight if they get snowed in after the party.”

“Don’t you have an event planner who can handle these kinds of logistics?” Midna asked.

“I do,” Paya agreed. Then she blushed. “But… I like doing it myself. I feel guilty when I ask a lot of my staff, and this event already puts so much pressure on them…”

Midna looked like she was about to say something caustic, but Zelda piped up, thinking of the man even now making his way over with a glass of water in hand.

“I’m sure they appreciate how much you care,” Zelda said. “The people I’ve spoken with seem very loyal.”

Paya laced her hands together.

“I just want to help them be happy,” she said. “I want everyone to be happy.”

Midna shook her head. “You sweet summer child,” she said without rancor. “Zelda, was I ever this idealistic?”

“Never,” Zelda said. “You came out of the womb with one brow cocked, you imp.”

“Miss Paya, do you need some water?”

Link had appeared at Paya’s elbow and now held out a goblet full of water. Paya took it gratefully.

“Thank you, Link,” she said with feeling. “You’re a lifesaver. And… I know that you got pulled off your normal duties, but do you know if Granté got the garlands and greenery for tomorrow in order? I’d heard there was some trouble...”

“We sorted it out earlier,” Link said with a smile. “Don’t worry, Miss Paya. Granté would never let you down.”

Paya went very pink at that and murmured something unintelligible, then took a sip of her water.

“How else may I assist you?” Link asked, looking first at Paya, then at Midna, then at last at Zelda. She tried not to warm under his gaze and failed.

“Just be my human shield when Lord Ghirahim comes around,” Zelda said. “Which you’ve done admirably, by the way.”

They all looked around. Said Duke was nowhere in sight, thankfully. Link, sensing his presence was relatively unneeded, bowed briefly, then made his way back to his post by the wall with the other escorts.

“Speaking of whom, what’s this about Lord Ghirahim organizing a skating expedition at the Spring of Wisdom?” Midna asked Paya as Zelda watched Link go.

“Oh, that.” Paya grimaced. “It’s one of his snotty ‘see-how-much-better-I-am-than-everyone’ things. He’s only inviting a select few, apparently. Still…” Paya shook her head. “One doesn’t argue with foreign royalty.”

“Worm,” muttered Midna. “He tried to issue an invitation via Lady Cia earlier.”

“Oh.” Paya looked torn between hope and tiredness. “Really? Well… if you want to go, you should… or if you don’t, I can entertain you in the morning instead...”

“We don’t,” said Zelda crisply. “We’d much rather spend time with you.”

Paya tried for a brave smile. Mostly she just looked like she was about to burst into tears.

“That’s it,” said Midna, shaking her head. “Paya, you’re going to get through dinner, open the dance, see that everyone is settled, and then you’re going to cry off with a headache. I’ll take over for you as hostess. And sleep in tomorrow morning, for gods’ sake. We’ll deal with the Duke.”

“Oh, but―” Paya said.

“No buts,” said Midna. “You’re about to fall apart. We can get along without you for a few hours. Besides, once the alcohol gets flowing, nobody will even notice if you sneak out. Just… go. Take a bath. Micromanage your staff. Whatever relaxes you.”

Paya looked absurdly grateful, and sniffed. She was too well-trained to cry and ruin her makeup, but her eyes glittered nonetheless.

“Thank you, Midna,” she said. Her voice was wobbling. “You’re a good friend. And you too, Zelda. You’ve both been so flexible and patient… you especially, Zelda, what with tolerating Link. Thank you for being patient with him. I know he’s not exactly escort material…”

“He’s wonderful,” Zelda said firmly.

“How exactly did you come by him, anyway?” Midna asked. “Is there somewhere that I can find more?”

“Well, it’s a bit of a funny story, actually,” Paya said. “It was completely by accident ― I was at a garden exhibition in Akkala, of all places, making enquiries about Silent Princesses for my hothouses…”

As Paya spoke, Zelda’s gaze drifted over to Link. He looked very handsome tonight in his dark blue suit and tie. But even though his cuffs were perfect and not a hair was out of place, there was still something about him that spoke of the outdoors, of wildness only half contained. When Zelda had teasingly asked him what color flower her dress reminded him of that night, he’d taken a long time to answer, then shaken his head.

“Not a flower,” he’d finally told her. “The waters out at Lurelin Bay, all blue and warm.”

“Oh,” Zelda had said, her voice suddenly breathless. “I wasn’t aware you’d been to Lurelin.”

“I haven’t,” he said. “But I’ve seen pictures, and I’d like to go someday.” There had been a look in his eyes then, one that had almost made Zelda ask him on the spot if he’d like to drop everything and go right then, propriety be damned… but fortunately, the moment had passed as quickly as it came.

Now, as half-insane imaginings of running away with a gardener swirled through Zelda’s head, a butler cleared his throat at the entrance to the dining room.

“Dinner is served,” he said, his voice carrying clearly over the crowd.

“Thank goodness,” Paya exhaled.

Link peeled away from the wall and began making his way over to Zelda, a sudden alertness to his posture. But before he could make it to her, a white doublet appeared in her vision.

“Highness,” said Lord Ghirahim, bowing ostentatiously over the gloved hand he’d plucked from her side, “you look radiant tonight. Blue becomes you.”

Zelda swallowed her distaste and forced a smile.

“Lord Ghirahim,” she said. “It’s lovely to see you, as always. Perhaps we might speak more after dinner…?”

“I’d hoped I might escort you in,” he said. Unbidden, he tucked Zelda’s hand into the crook of his elbow. She tried to jerk it away, but he held it there with the pressure of one palm. He smiled very charmingly at her. “It would be such a lovely Midwinter’s gift.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve contracted an escort,” Zelda said, trying to pull her hand free without making it obvious she was doing so. “I can’t show preference to any gentleman here, my lord. Surely you understand that?”

“No preference?” He laughed, a musical sound that Zelda nevertheless hated. Heads were slowly turning in their direction. “It seems to me you’re showing an awful lot of preference for that lowly gardener.”

“He’s my escort, provided by Lady Paya, and I’m very pleased with his service,” Zelda said pleasantly. “Do let me go, sir.”

“Let  _ me _ be your escort, then,” the duke said. “Surely my manners are better than a lowly peasant’s.”

“Your manners, perhaps, but not your personality,” said a pleasant male voice. “I believe she has asked you to let her go.”

Lord Ghirahim looked for a moment as though he might snarl. Instead, he turned with a wintry smile.

“Green boy,” he said to Link. “Toddle off. The princess and I are trying to have a conversation.”

Link didn’t respond to that. Instead, he turned his eyes to Zelda, and she was surprised to see the repressed rage in them. “Highness, do you require assistance?”

“No, thank you,” Zelda said. She finally wrenched her hand away from Ghirahim. She smiled her most courtly smile, wishing suffering upon the duke and knowing that wish showed in her eyes. “Shall we go in to dinner?”

She was proud of herself for not letting her fury show. Back on campus, she had been far more demonstrative, defending herself from unwanted advances with acerbic aplomb. But here… She was not at home.

So it was a comfort when Link placed his hand over her trembling fingers. He didn’t have to do that. But the weight of his touch was welcome, a steadying presence.

As Lord Ghirahim faded from her immediate surroundings, no doubt to lick his wounds and smugly fall back on Lady Cia, Zelda risked a glance at her companion.

Link was impassive. His eyes were focused on leading her safely. But his jaw was tense, and she was sure she saw a muscle leaping there.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Can’t you tell him off?” Link asked, his voice low. There was a note of impatience in his voice. “You’re the future Queen of Hyrule…”

“Diplomacy before war,” she gently said, taking a deep, steadying breath. As she did, she smelled the scent of his aftershave ― a crisp, warm smell that was distinctly his. “Duke Ghirahim is royalty too.”

“I’m sure my childhood orphanage had a better chance of harbouring Prince Charming than Faron Palace, then,” Link said. There was no mistaking the animosity in his voice, though to his credit he let little of it show on his face.

“Undoubtedly,” Zelda said, faintly, trying not to stare at his profile. An orphanage? Gods, was she abusing an orphan right now?

A ridiculously handsome orphan, who was all grown up and not at all looking raggedy―

Link removed his hand from hers to pull out her dining room chair. His movements were economical, steady, and not for the first time Zelda found herself regretting that he wouldn’t be dining with her. The more brief moments she spent with him, the less eager she was to see him walk away.

But walk away he did, once everyone had been seated. She now had Kafei Dotour on her left and High Priest Rauru on her right. Her eye caught the studious glance of Duke Ghirahim, seated as far away from her as could be politely achieved, but he looked away, casually. 

The more alarming sight, actually, was the lingering, appreciative glance of Lady Cia, whose eyes were not on her dining companions, but rather followed Link as he walked past her seat on his way out of the hall. Her long lashes batted down and a hungry smile pulled lightly at her lips.

And Zelda, for the first time, found that her own appetite had faded, replaced with a ball of lead.

* * *

 

Granté whistled when he entered the kitchens, eyeing Link with brows raised high. “Looking sharp, man.” Groose followed him in, grumpily knocking the snow off his boots with every step. “Do you get to keep the suit after?”

Link looked up from his plate. He was scarfing food down with unabashed hunger, though he’d had the sense to cover his chest and lap with a napkin. “Blurgh?”

Granté rolled his eyes. “Gods, you’re elegant as a bokoblin.” He lifted a leg to straddle the long bench across the table from Link. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you spent way too much time in the trenches. Is it really that bad up there?” He nodded to the short flight of steps that led out into the service hallway.

Link swallowed before speaking. “... No. Well. It is and it isn’t.” He moved over slightly to let Groose sit on the bench next to him. “Everyone is polite, I guess. And because everyone is polite you don’t get the sense that anyone is honest.”

“Even the princess?” Granté asked, frowning.

Link shook his head. “No, she’s… she’s fine.”

_ Damn  _ fine.

Groose snorted. “I’ll say. I saw what she was wearing tonight.” Link shot him a quick glare before lifting another forkful to his mouth, but Groose shrugged. “What? I’m not  _ blind _ .”

“Well, enjoy it,” Granté muttered. “Because tomorrow you both get a helicopter ride to pristine Mt. Lanayru, and I get to stay here, like a sucker, to hang up mistletoe and fresh wreaths. Gods, so many wreaths.”

“Miss Paya isn’t going,” Groose said, reaching over to pluck one of Link’s potatoes off his plate, which earned him a warning growl. “So you get to keep pretty Miss Paya company on Midwinter’s Eve, cozy as you like, while Link and I have to freeze our asses off because some Duke wants to propose to the princess―”

Link started to choke.

As Granté pushed a glass of water his way and Groose slapped him on the back, he managed to croak, “ _ Propose _ ?”

“Yeah,” Groose said, brow furrowed in confusion. “It’s when a guy asks a girl if she wants to marry him―”

“I know what propose means,” Link scowled, appetite suddenly gone. Groose shrugged.

“Who’s the Duke?” Granté asked, propping his face up with his elbow in obvious boredom, his voice muffled by the loud buzzing in Link’s ears.

“Ghirahoom or whatever,” Groose said. He pointed to the green beans on Link’s plate. “Are you having those?”

Link shook his head, and Groose pulled his now relinquished plate closer, gingerly.

“Is she going to say yes?” Granté asked.

“She wouldn’t,” Link said, confidently, despite the doubt that crept into the back of his mind. Right? “He had her in a death grip and she seemed relieved to get away from him…” Surely she wouldn’t―

“Well, the Duke seems convinced she’ll say yes,” Groose said. “Don’t remember his exact words, but it went something like, ‘No one else comes close to my rank in this stinking pile’.”

Granté looked outraged. “That is Miss Paya’s palatial home he’s insulting.”

Groose snorted, chewing. “Yeah, well, he’s rich enough he gets to say what he likes.” He snorted, to show what he thought of the notion. “But he’s not invited to the staff after-party, that’s for sure.”

At the reminder, Granté immediately cheered up. He turned to Link. “Hey, you’ll be there, right? Yearly tradition ― you can’t miss out this time. You don’t have any excuse now, since you’re not going back to Ordon. And don’t give me that whole spiel about not being in the spirit.”

Link managed a chuckle. “Yeah. Sure, I’ll be there.” Anything to forget royal engagements.

Granté grinned. “Hell yeah! You’ll see, I make a mean eggnog.”

“We’ll see about that,” Link said. He glanced at the clock. “I have to get going.” He pulled his napkin out of his collar and off his lap, stood off from the bench, and gestured. “Do I look okay?”

“You look like a stinking prince,” Granté grimaced. “Just missing a sash.”

“You’re fine,” Groose said, without looking up from his stolen plate.

“Thanks, guys. Reliable as ever.”

He left them in the kitchens, feeling like the world was off its axis. For one, there was the ball of nerves in his stomach at the thought of leading Zelda in her first dance, the recollection of her body pressed against his, the memory of having his hand against her back ― gods, she had a backless dress tonight, the kind that dove so low that there was no way he’d avoid touching her skin…

He paused as he left the servants’ hallway, feeling familiar heat flush him. He hadn’t exactly set out to find her so good-looking, but… Well. He was flesh and blood.

Not, he reminded himself, pausing against a wall to collect himself, that he had any sort of legitimate claim to her. She was a princess, her responsibilities as a figurehead were… beyond his ken, far outside any realm of competence he could fathom for himself.

So if the Duke thought he was up to the task, Link was in no position, had no right to interfere.

Except for the trembling in Zelda’s fingers when she’d wrenched herself free from the duke’s grasp. He hadn’t dreamed it, Link was sure. He’d sensed her agitation, her discomfort, and not only because she was all he could seem to look at from across the room. His best efforts to appear disaffected were pitiable.

No, Zelda did not like Duke Ghirahim, though she played nice. And Link didn’t like him either. At all.

A selfish little imp inside of him taunted, goaded. Maybe… Maybe he could afford to show some measure of possessiveness… Maybe…

“Well,  _ hello  _ there.”

He snapped to attention, straightening.

Lady Cia― silver haired, sharp-featured, unbelievably well-endowed― wore a dress so skin-tight that Link wondered how it managed to cover her impressive chest. Not that he was looking at her chest. Hard to look at her and not notice, though...

“Are you lost, you poor thing?” She cooed, softly. Her voice was like a purr, low and seductive, in a way that instantly told Link everything he needed to know.

“Uh. No.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I was… eating. If you’re looking for the ladies’ room, it’s over there.” He motioned, politely, and stepped aside.

She approached him, but did not continue on to the ladies’ room. Instead, her long-nailed fingers reached out to his chest, trailing over the crisp fabric of his dress shirt, and she closed in, way too close for polite company. “Oh, dear, it looks like your tie is a little crooked.” Slowly, her fingers went to the knot at his collar and tugged gently, so gently that it was a pretext, so gently that Link doubted she’d done anything at all. He focused his gaze on the opposite wall. “Why don’t you show me the ladies’ room? I’m sure I could use your help in there.” And then her hands went under his jacket, to his shirt, roaming.

Link nearly spluttered. As bold advances went, this one took the cake.

He tried not to laugh. “Uh, thanks for the offer,” he said, embarrassed. “I’m afraid not. Duty calls.”

She gave him a moue of disappointment. “Now that’s no fun. Come on, handsome, a few minutes― I’m sure your dull little princess won’t notice if you’re a few minutes late. She has plenty of people eager to keep her company.”

That, Link considered darkly, was a large part of the problem. “I appreciate the offer,” he said, more firmly, “but I must insist.” Then, gently, he took her wrists and moved them away from his clothes, then pulled away from her. He gave a curt bow of his head. “Lady Cia.”

There, he told himself, as he turned on his heel and walked away. That was as curt and polite as he could make himself. And if the look in her eyes was a little sour, that wasn’t his fault.

No surprise, he reminded himself. Being the princess’ companion for the moment would necessarily attract attention ― she had warned him about it, and promised it would die out. Sure, it had drawn the eye of a lady, but it meant nothing. People were fickle. They’d forget about him soon enough.

There was only one person, Link thought, that he would have liked to flirt with. And as he emerged again into the dining hall, he saw her in the crystal chandelier light, glittering in blue and gold― radiant, beautiful... 

Out of reach.

Not for long, he thought to himself. He’d lead her in that first valse and he’d savour every second. He’d shape the memory so assiduously, he promised himself, that it would remain long after she was gone and forgot him. And if all went well―

If all went well they’d not make fools of themselves. That was it. There was no higher aspiration he could realistically aim for.

And if he found himself staring at the ceiling over his bed later tonight, wondering how someone could make him actually forget what had made Hilda’s betrayal so damn painful… Well, that was his own business.

For now, he contented himself with nearing the princess’ chair, silent as you please, gratified when she somehow sensed his approach and turned to smile radiantly up at him.

“Link,” she said, warmly, pronouncing his name in a way that thrilled up and down his spine. “Did you enjoy your meal?”

“I did,” he said, placing his hands on the back of her chair. Next to her, Kafei Dotour turned, catching his eye.

“You’re not Misko,” he said, amusement crinkling his eyes.

“No, sir,” Link replied.

“Bloody relief,” Kafei Dotour said, nudging Zelda. “This one looks less arrogant by a mile. Will you skate with us tomorrow morning on Mt. Lanayru, Mr. Link? We could use some friendly company.”

Link hesitated. Zelda was smiling. He said, “If her highness wants me to accompany her, I gladly will.”

“Oh, thank gods,” Kafei said. To Zelda, he continued, “You have to drag him along. If I have to listen to some pompous ass use ‘summer’ as a verb even  _ one  _ more time, I’ll pitch myself off the mountain.”

“Understandable,” Zelda replied, and Link noted how she stifled a giggle. Her wine glass was empty. Her cheeks were flushed. She looked… beautiful. “I’m glad you and your wife will accompany us,” she admitted. “Since Lady Paya is staying here to organize the evening’s masque, Midna and I would have been quite outnumbered.”

Kafei’s pale brown eyes slid towards Duke Ghirahim. “Hm. Maybe it’d be better not to go at all,” he said, thoughtfully, which made Link wonder whether Groose had been the only one to overhear the Duke’s intentions. But the Terminian diplomat instead brightened again. “Still, we should try to enjoy ourselves. I don’t get to fly in a helicopter as often as I pretend I do.”

She snorted softly, fingers closing around the napkin in her lap tightly, then relaxing.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the meal, and Link helped Zelda out of her chair, making sure to offer her his arm before Duke Ghirahim could even think to swoop in.

When they began to make their way with the other guests back to the ballroom, Princess Zelda tilted her head his way. “I did not even think to ask whether you would be willing to accompany me,” she said, and Link didn’t miss the apologetic note in her voice.

“I am at your disposal,” he softly replied. Should he tell her about the Duke’s intent to propose? No… It was a rumour, nothing more, and he wasn’t comfortable discussing any sort of engagement she might enter into. “Granté and the other gardeners are handling my responsibilities without a single complaint. They understand.”

“You cannot imagine what a lifesaver you have been,” she murmured. It made warmth spread throughout Link’s limbs. “I shall have to find a way to thank you properly.”

The thought of Zelda being indebted to him triggered a hundred illicit, compromising thoughts. Shutting them down as firmly as he was able, Link stifled a chuckle, and nevertheless joked, “I’ll try to think of something... respectable.”

Her cheeks flushed so suddenly that Link knew her mind had gone down the same avenues as his, and come out the other side soundly embarrassed. Guilt pricked at him.

“Forgive me,” he said, hastily, softly. “That was in bad taste.”

But she was amused. Her lips wavered before pulling into a faint smile. “You should be more careful, Link. A woman might think you were flirting.”

“Never,” he assured her, schooling his face so that it looked as neutral as possible. “That would completely ruin the purpose of serving as your polite, respectable companion.”

They entered the ballroom, a wonderland of gold, blue and white that he had helped to design ―with garlands of dark evergreen branches and carefully selected white blossoms― when Link felt her hand squeeze at his arm ever so slightly. He steered her aside and looked at her.

She was admiring the room. When she spoke, he almost didn’t comprehend what she said.

“Think what you will of me,” she said, so softly that her voice melted into the hubbub of admiration and the first tunings of instruments, “but if we weren’t under such scrutiny, I wouldn’t care.” Her gaze turned, and suddenly she fixed him with a look that nearly pinned him in place, burning along his nerves and veins. Her voice was low, warm. “Let’s not be respectable if we don’t have to be.”

He tried to speak and had nothing in his throat. So instead, he managed a shallow, breathless laugh, and accepted he was officially besotted.

And fucked. So, so fucked.

As they took their place in the middle of the dance floor, Link mentally flailed in panic. He bounced between delight, terror, hope, confusion, and a bone-deep sense of unworthiness. She was a princess. He was just… just a gardener, and an orphan, and... What did she see in him…?

Zelda was looking up at him, her green eyes concerned.

“Breathe, Link,” she told him. “Do it just like we practiced.”

Do what? Oh. Dancing. Right. She thought he was afraid of dancing.

Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea.

Link took a breath and bowed deeply. She curtseyed. The music began. They stepped into hold, and Link mentally instructed himself to think of nothing but the steps she’d drilled into him earlier. He was to focus on his feet, not the fact that his hand was sliding very intimately across the princess’ bare back, and that she wanted him to flirt with her. He needed to keep his attention on where they were going, not the fact that her skin was as soft as silk. He needed to…

“Relax,” she whispered.

Right. Relax. He could do that. He could think relaxing thoughts. Let’s see… Warm milk, naps in the sunshine, cozy fireside rooms with the princess and him and maybe a bed…

_ No _ . No, that was not relaxing. He needed to think other thoughts. Cold thoughts. And quick.

He thought about his garden. He thought about his precious plants, wrapped up for the winter, ready to dream away the season under a blanket of snow. He thought about the way that snow looked, all pristine and glittering. And, because his mind was a traitor, he thought about what the princess might look like in the snow… no, not the princess, Zelda. He imagined her leaping into snow piles and coming up laughing, flakes dusting her hair. Her cheeks would be pink. Her eyes would be sparkling. She might have a snowball in her hand…

“Much better,” Zelda murmured. “Ready to try a reverse turn?”

Link scoured his memory. Which one had that been? Oh, right. He nodded once. She smiled. Goddesses, but she had dimples, and all he wanted to do was kiss them.

_ Bad Link. Think snow thoughts.  _

“Lead the way,” she told him.

Trying to ignore the eyes on him ― feeling naked, as though everyone could see exactly through his thick skull and into his traitorous, probably treasonous brain ― Link led her through the turn she’d requested. She followed beautifully. Feeling brave, he tried a few other moves, and she responded to him as naturally as though they’d done this a thousand times. They danced on, Link’s mind calming slowly.

When the music ended, he was even disappointed.

The orchestra played its final chords and they stepped apart. He bowed to her, she curtseyed to him, and for a brief, precious moment, there was silence. Motionlessness.

Then people began milling, and the spell was broken.

Link looked up and around as he took his spot at the princess’ side. In his head there was a vague panic that people might have seen something, might know something, just from watching him dance. But nobody was even looking at him. They were all watching the princess, or watching each other.

Except for Lord Ghirahim, who was glaring at Link with daggers in his eyes… and, at his side, Lady Cia, who looked as though she might very much like to get a spoon and start eating Link like ice cream.

“Highness, may I have this dance?”

Link turned. It was an older fellow, handsome for all that his long hair was pure white.

“Lord Owlan,” said Zelda with real warmth, “I’d be delighted.”

Link knew that meant he was dismissed, at least for now: that it was his turn to go stand by the wall, and watch her, and watch the other guests, and return at her signal, and have ready an excuse should someone near her that she disliked. He didn’t know exactly who it was that she disliked, or why… but he could tell, based on the set of her shoulders alone, when someone was approaching her that she’d have rather avoided.

How could he know that about her? How did he know her that well already? They’d only really just met yesterday. It was stupid that he was feeling this invested, this overwhelmed after a mere two days. He was stupid.

But then he remembered her comments to him earlier, and couldn’t help a small smile. If he was stupid, then she was just as stupid as he was, he figured. It was nice not to be alone in that.

So, feeling smug, he settled in to watch his princess for the rest of the night, not minding the chore at all.

* * *

 

The ball ended late, just as it had the night before. Link danced with the princess only once more, at the end of the ball, during the final dance. He felt much less self-conscious that time: the few people remaining were either drunk or asleep on their feet. Even the princess was exhausted, judging by the way she rested more of her weight against him than was proper ― and not in a seductive way. He led her gently, keeping his steps small, his motions simple.

And then it was over, and she was locking her jaw on a yawn.

“Highness,” Link said, holding out his elbow. “Allow me to lead you back to your chambers.”

She took his arm and nodded tiredly. The light glinted off of the spectacular crown she wore.

As they made their way through the halls, occasionally encountering other guests entirely focused on their own missions, Link felt the princess leaning more and more heavily against him. At an intersection, he paused and looked down at her.

“Are you alright?” he asked her.

“I’m fine. It’s only…” Her cheeks went a little pink. “My feet are quite sore from all that dancing.”

Link remembered that he’d seen a number of women take their shoes off later in the evening at other celebrations. He guessed, though, that going shoeless at a ball wasn’t exactly up to princess standards.

“This way,” he told her instead, tugging her down a side hallway.

“Where are we going?”

“Shortcut,” Link said. Actually, it was a long cut, but she didn’t need to know that.

He pulled her into a side corridor and through a little narrow door to a narrow, undecorated hallway.

“Servants’ corridor,” he told her. Then, because she was leaning so hard against him, he acted on impulse and swept her up. He put one arm under her knees and cradled her to him. For a moment, she went stiff in surprise, and he thought she might argue… then she relaxed and went boneless, and tilted her head against his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said, weariness infusing her every word.

She was so light, Link marvelled as he walked. It was like carrying a feather. She smelled nice, too: her fancy perfume had rubbed off during the evening, leaving only the faintest trace, and instead, he could smell the shampoo she used in her hair, the soap she used on her skin. It was pleasant, almost intoxicating. Fortunately, there was a big crown in the way that would keep him from doing something undecorous like burying his nose in her hair.

“Two nights down,” she told him as he turned a corner. Nearly there. “One to go. I’ll be glad when this event is over. Although…” She paused. She’d wrapped her arms around his neck, and now he felt the gentle motion of one thumb brushing his shoulder. “I’ll miss you, Link.”

Her words sent a pang through him. How else could he respond but with honesty?

“I’ll miss you too,” he told her. “Here we are.” They’d reached the end of the corridor, and now he reluctantly set her down. She smoothed her hands over her lagoon-colored dress and took his arm once more, walking a bit more easily. They made their way through the door, then down the hallway… and then they were at her room. She opened the door, then paused, looking thoughtfully over her shoulder at him.

“Link, would…” She paused and pinkened a bit. “Would you like to come in for some cocoa?”

Was she propositioning him? Did she mean cocoa, or… or something that wasn’t cocoa? If he accepted and she was offering the latter, would parliament execute him? That was treason, right?

The hell with it.

“Cocoa sounds great,” he said. She nodded and made her way into the suite, and left the door open for him. He followed her inside. As he shut the door, she stepped out of her shoes, groaning wearily. She picked them up and handed them to Link.

“Torture devices,” she told him. “Evil monsters. Make sure they don’t harm anyone else while I call for our drinks and change.”

“Alright,” Link said, holding the shoes gingerly. They  _ did _ look like contraptions designed deliberately to inflict pain… and they smelled a bit. Well, she’d been wearing them all night. Of course they would smell a bit. She was only human, after all. He set the shoes aside under a window, where they couldn’t accidentally trip anyone. Then he sank into a seat by the fire. He didn’t dare take off his cufflinks, but he did loosen his tie and drape his jacket over the back of his chair. He kicked off his shoes, stuck his feet out in the direction of the flames, and tilted his head back. It had been a long day for him, too, and he was very, very tired.

He heard her voice from the other room, speaking softly into the telephone. He couldn’t make out the words from here, but found that he didn’t care. It was a nice sound, her voice: soft and sweet. Like her. He shifted, getting a bit more comfortable, until a rustle of fabric roused him.

“There’s a hole in your heel.”

Link wiggled his foot obligingly, but didn’t open his eyes.

“I’m a gardener,” he told her. “I wear holes in all of my socks eventually.” He sat up and looked at her. She’d changed to a loose set of silk pajamas, over which went a thick, warm robe. Her jewelry and makeup were gone, but her crown still sat on her head, her hair straggling half-undone around her shoulders. Link couldn’t help but smile.

“I know,” she said with disgust. “I look utterly absurd. But it’s stuck in my hair. Would you…”

“Of course,” he said. He started to rise, but she surprised him by striding over and plopping down in front of him, on the floor before the fire, her back leaning against his legs. She felt warm, unbelievably… real. Female.

“You may begin,” she told him.

Well, Link wasn’t one to disobey a direct order. He began working with gentle fingers to carefully unseat the crown from her hair. Strands of golden mane had gotten twisted around some of the crown’s more intricate whorls, and he took care not to break any of them as he carefully worked. At last, it came free, and he held the jewelry in his hands for a moment with wonder.

“Thank you,” she said, sighing in relief. “That’s much better.”

“I’ll bet it is.” He hefted it cautiously in his fingers. “It’s so heavy. Are all crowns this heavy?”

There was a smile in her voice when she spoke. “That’s a tiara, and it’s much lighter than some of the other monstrosities I’ll be forced to wear over the years. The Imperial State Crown, which I’ll wear at my coronation this spring, weighs double that.” The smile had gone out of her voice. Link carefully set the crown ― no, tiara ― aside, trying not to think about how much it was probably worth.

“Let me get these pins out of your hair for you,” he told her instead. She nodded, then settled a little more firmly against him as he began to comb through her hair. He removed pins slowly, settling them in a little pile on the side table next to the tiara.

“I’m worried about my coronation,” she confessed into the silence after a few long minutes. “Or more specifically, I’m worried about being queen.”

“Why?” Her hair was so soft. Link marveled at the feel of it under his fingers as he carefully teased out a particularly obstinate pin. She sighed.

“My parents married for love,” she said instead. “I’m sure you know the story. She was a member of the low nobility, barely better than a commoner, he was the prince, they met by accident, fell in love, had to fight with parliament to get permission to wed…” She circled her hand in the air. “There’s dozens of movies about it.”

Link knew. He’d been forced to watch them ad nauseam in the orphanage. The girls (and Aryll specifically) had liked them quite a bit: if a king could fall in love with a woman who was nearly a commoner, maybe there was hope for one of them being more than an orphan someday. And, truthfully, the hopeful story had appealed to him too, though as a child and teenager he never would have admitted it.

“My mother had an upbringing that was… if not precisely average, it wasn’t overwhelmingly aristocratic. She naturally had lessons on manners and deportment and all of that, of course, but she’d been raised alongside normal people. She went to public schools and universities. She had a job when she met my father. She was well off, yes, but she’d led a relatively average life until then.”

Zelda paused. Link found another pin and carefully withdrew it, waiting.

“When my mother married my father, she made him promise her,” Zelda finally said, “that any children they had be given as normal of a life as was possible. My mother wanted her sons and daughters raised out of the spotlight. She wanted them― wanted  _ me _ ― to know what it meant to be normal.”

She took a deep breath, then sighed. “She died when I was six.”

“I’m sorry,” Link said. He couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to lose a parent… mostly because he couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to have a parent to begin with. “That must have been very difficult.”

“It was.” She leaned a little harder against his legs. “Even after she was gone, my father never broke his promise to her. He gave me as close to a normal life as he could. Of course, I went to private schools and universities and have never had a job,” she added with a grimace. “But he kept me out of the spotlight. Right up until he died.”

The king’s death had been a sudden thing over the summer: one day, alive and healthy, the next, checked into the hospital with a failing heart.

“I’d just finished my masters’ program,” she continued. “It happened less than a month after I returned home from university. I’d never been part of royal life in any meaningful way… never helped him govern, aside from a few times when I’d watched him working with parliament. And now it’s my turn, my job, and… and I don’t know what to do.”

Link had finished removing pins a while ago and now merely pulled his fingers through her hair again and again. She seemed to like it, because she didn’t pull away.

“I think,” he finally said, when she didn’t speak again, “that you’re going to make an amazing queen.”

She sighed. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

“I mean it,” he told her. “Everyone likes you and admires you. The peers here seem to respect you. And the people that I’ve talked to, the ones who work here for Miss Paya… they’re curious about you, and want to know more. They want to believe in you.”

She absorbed that in silence for a moment. 

“I only hope I don’t let them down,” she finally said.

Link paused in the act of brushing her hair aside.

“You won’t,” he finally told her.

She turned, propping her elbow over his knees, and looked up at him.

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” he said, heart thundering in his chest. He leaned forward, wanting to be closer to her. “You haven’t let me down.”

She looked at him for a long moment. Then her eyes flitted to his lips, and she froze. Link froze, too. A look came across her face ― hungry, determined ― she leaned up ― Link sat stock still, heart thundering―

― was she going to…?

“Highness?”

A knock sounded at the door. The princess froze, her lips only a hair’s breadth away from Link’s, and sighed. She pulled away from him as he stood.

Link made his way to the door and opened it up. One of the kitchen workers was standing there with a tray, and he took it.

“Thanks, Aliza,” he said to the young woman. “It’s been a long night.”

She nodded, looking just as weary as Link felt. “No kidding.” Her eyes glanced curiously over Link’s shoulder to look at the princess, who was seated in her own chair by the fire, slumped with tiredness. Having determined that apparently nothing salacious was going on, she nodded at Link once.

“You must be really busy, escorting the princess and all,” she told him. “Quit chatting with me. Go do your job.”

Good old Aliza. Link smiled.

“Have a nice night,” he told her. He stepped back into the room and shut the door behind him with his sock-clad foot, then carried the tray over to the princess. There were two steaming mugs of cocoa, and a few other assorted toppings.

“Would you like whipped cream or marshmallows?”

Zelda stirred tiredly. “Both, please.” 

Link plopped a few marshmallows into each mug, topped it off with a dollop of Gotter’s homemade whipped cream, and carried them over to the fire.

The princess’ earlier openness seemed gone. Now, she stared pensively into the flames, her mug cradled between her hands. Link found his heart aching for her, but didn’t know what to say. For the first time in days, a little of the old loathing came back. Hilda had said he was awkward, insensitive, emotionally stunted… was she right? Why didn’t Link know how to comfort the princess?

She took a sip of her cocoa and paused. When she looked at him, the firelight reflected in her tired, sad eyes.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “For not pressuring me to speak. Or do anything, for that matter.”

That was it, Link thought. His princess was a telepath. There was no other explanation. He stared at her, thinking hard. Hoping.

She looked at him. Her expression morphed from gratitude to confusion.

“What?” She asked.

“Read my mind again,” he instructed her.

“What?”

“You just read my mind. Do it again.”

A smile twitched at the corner of her lips now. She pressed her fingers to her temples and made a face of exaggerated concentration.

“You are thinking… about…” she paused for dramatic effect, “...fruitcake?” It came out a question, so adorable that Link couldn’t help but laugh.

“I was thinking about how scary cuckoos are when they’re violent, actually,” he said. It was a lie: he’d been thinking about how nice it would feel to touch her hair again and maybe to kiss her, but she didn’t need to know that.

“Of course,” she deadpanned. “Cuckoo-on-cuckoo violence is a truly terrifying thing to behold.”

“One of the great horrors of our age,” Link agreed.

She was smiling now, and the hauntedness was gone from her eyes. She took another sip of her cocoa, and sighed.

“Thank you,” she said again.

“You’re welcome,” Link responded. “What else are friends for?”

She smiled. They finished their drinks in a companionable silence, and Link’s mind ― spinning around in mad circles for so much of the night ― was finally, blessedly quiet. When he let himself out of the princess’ rooms at last so she could go to bed and he could go to his little cot, he felt, for the first time in days, an odd sense of peace. No matter what came tomorrow, no matter what happened after this party was over, he would always have the memories of this night: cocoa by the fire in the princess’ suite, the softness of her hair beneath his hands, the sweet promise of a near kiss.

It would have to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CM:** Man, Paya is so pure. That Midna/Zelda/Paya friendship is so wholesome. Like us texting unicorns at each other.  
>  **Lyx:** You know what they say! _Write what you know._  
>  **CM:** Oh, of course. Also, the thing you did with Link carrying Zelda...  
>  **CM:** Not gonna lie. It makes me so happy inside hahaha  
>  **Lyx:** _Girl_. I know we're supposed to be disgusted by all this, but... I love it... I just fucking love it.


	5. Chapter 5

“Don’t take this personally, but you look like hell,” Midna said, cradling her tumbler of morning coffee blearily as she watched the skating party disembark from the helicopters.

Zelda didn’t doubt it. She had hardly slept, despite her exhaustion. A hundred thoughts had rattled around her mind most of the night, with all their accompanying emotions. Her nerves were frayed, tired.

Not least among her concerns was the continued absence of her father’s last gift, a brooch that had served as a comfort on the darkest days. She was losing hope of ever seeing it again. Even the manor staff seemed quietly convinced it was long gone, though Paya assured her they were still on the lookout.

It was a shame, though. Her costume tonight, for the masque, had made use of it, and she had drawn pride from knowing its glittering presence would serve as a subtle reminder of her identity among masked strangers. In the darkness of night, she had tried to make peace with the fact that she was likely never going to see it again, and that came with a hefty dose of guilt and mournful sorrow. Losing that brooch was a little bit like losing another part of her father, and the grief was still near.

But that wasn’t the only thing she feared she would lose. As the past few days had amply demonstrated, she was gradually filling the new role the world had in store for her, and Zelda the student, Zelda the scholar, Zelda the anonymous princess was vanishing, lost to the passage of time and the rise of responsibility. Henceforth, if she wanted to indulge in academic pursuits, it would always be with the scrutiny of the world upon her. She had allowed herself a measure of self-pity at that, and a certain amount of bitterness.

And then, of course, there was another loss that loomed, small and insignificant, in the grand scheme of things. A tiny little parting, of no importance at all, that would occur within a matter of days, and which somehow filled her with as much dread as the prospect of her coronation.

Link. Link would vanish from her life.

Objectively, she knew, Link was a trivial matter, a mere man. A distraction among many, not a lover, not even a friend.

And yet.

There was something to that  _ yet _ , the smallest, curtest of words. It whispered at her in the night, continually haunting her hours, not always conscious, but somehow always  _ there _ , lurking in the back of her mind, like a phantom of possibility.

Oh yes, Link was not a friend. How could he be? And yet… Yet she caught herself noticing something light and fluttering inside of her, like a bird in a cage flapping its wings to fly free, like a weak ember blowing in a raging storm, something that simply did not want to die, despite the circumstances and the inevitable fate that necessity demanded― Something in her chest that made her seek him out with her gaze when opportunity allowed, something in her very soul that found comfort in his presence…

Beyond the thought of Link was a feeling of  _ hope _ . Hope! A maudlin notion that otherwise had no place in her day-to-day business, a sentiment that was entirely opposed to the rational, intellectual approaches she otherwise preferred. In him, she saw the hope of normalcy, the hope of commonality, the hope of shared experience and warmth and laughter. Link embodied all the grounded, thoroughly human wants that prim propriety and responsibility had tried to choke out of her.

And yes, perhaps it was a foolish thing, worth indulging solely during the Midwinter holidays, before duty and rectitude called her back to order.

Yet. Yet.  _ Yet _ .

Yet when he stepped out of the staff helicopter with the big red-headed man who served as Paya’s head of security, her eyes found him immediately, and her insides did a little flop. The last time she had done that was due to teenage infatuation. Ten years ago.

In fairness, it wasn’t entirely her fault. Link was very easy to look at. Even when wearing his winter coat and hat, and a scarf and gloves and big boots, he looked good. The cold air coloured his cheeks and the tip of his nose, but otherwise it was obvious being outside suited him best. His blue eyes were bright with good humour and his smile, as he conversed with the head of security, was genuine, friendly.

Zelda turned away before he could notice her staring, pretending to be quite at ease standing with Midna in complete silence, contemplating the nearby summit of Mount Lanayru in the crisp morning light.

The snow here had piled on much more than in the lowlands. Ice formations towered over them, a crystal blue so pure that it looked impossible and reminded Zelda of a certain gardener’s eyes, not that she was going to look back at him to compare.

Nested in a hollow at the peak of the mountain, in front of an ancient shrine, the Spring of Wisdom lay still and grey, covered in a sheet of ice over which some snow flurries had blown, blending the edges. Some wooden shacks lined the outside of the pond, but Zelda saw that none of them displayed wares. In fact, aside from the small skate rental kiosk, nothing seemed to be on offer.

“I called ahead,” a smug voice suddenly interrupted her musing, “and ensured no commoners would disturb us.”

The outright scowl on Midna’s face echoed Zelda’s sentiment, but she plastered on a polite smile and turned slightly to Lord Ghirahim, refusing to give him anything more than the bare minimum acknowledgement. “I see.” A shame. One of the empty shacks had promised maple syrup sweets, and another promised caramel apples. No caramel for her, then, all to satisfy Lord Ghirahim’s need for self-importance.

“Of course, some commoners cannot be avoided,” he added, sneering at Link and the other members of Paya’s staff that had, by necessity, come along. “But I am sure they will stay out of our way.”

“I hope not,” Kafei Dotour said, striding towards them with his wife, Anju. Their boots crunched loudly in the snow. “I asked that big security guard for help. He says skating well can in fact be learned. Can you  _ imagine _ ?”

Midna snorted with laughter. “So impressionable, Kafei. I’ve never heard of such nonsense. Learning a skill one does not already possess at birth? Please. Next you’ll tell me that the sky is some unearthly blue colour.”

Anju raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle, while Kafei shot Midna a smirk. “Dear Countess, I think I have a few horses I could sell you.”

Lord Ghirahim cleared his throat, annoyed, and Zelda stifled a surge of satisfaction. “No doubt if her royal highness requires skating lessons, I would be glad to offer my own services.”

She regarded him with cold politeness. “The offer is most generous, but I am quite capable on the ice, thank you.”

Midna, bless her soul, intervened. “Princess Zelda’s lessons included a non-negligible number of vacations to Snowpeak. She’s quite skilled at downhill skiing as well.”

“Snowboarding was deemed unladylike,” Zelda said, primly, pleased to see the mild disgust on Lord Ghirahim’s face. Then, turning to the others and quite firmly ignoring him, she said, “Let’s go, hm?”

Putting on skates again after a long time felt alien, but Zelda found comfort in their rigid design. She was confident she’d soon regain her ability to move effortlessly, almost like riding a bike.

She sensed Link’s approach almost preternaturally, though she noticed he was careful to give her space. She sensed him hesitating in the corner of her vision, and felt him about to turn away, deciding against speaking.

“Do you know how to skate?” She asked him, looking over her shoulder, pleased to see him tense up, guiltily.

He shot her an embarrassed smile. “I used to. I haven’t skated since the orphanage.”

“It will come back to you,” she assured him. And then, for good measure, she moved aside on the wooden bench she was using to change footwear, a silent invitation.

He sat next to her gingerly. She was foolishly delighted about it. As he removed his boots carefully, she noted his socks had no holes in them today. Glancing at her, he wiggled his socked toes, raising his brows, evidently in reference to the very same thought, and she stifled a laugh.

Around them, the others were chatting ― Groose, Kafei and Anju were already out on the ice, several other young lords and ladies were busy comparing skates, and Midna was generously keeping both Lady Cia and Lord Ghirahim trapped in conversation. She’d have to thank her for that with equal generosity.

Noticing the direction of her gaze, Link lowered his eyes to his skates and began to lace them up. “I hear the Duke has a surprise for you today.” His voice was low.

“A helicopter ride was amply generous,” she replied, thoughtfully. “I am pleasantly surprised he consented to your presence.”

“Consent may be a stretch,” Link chuckled mirthlessly. “Miss Paya advocated on our behalf. She said unless Lord Ghirahim had a security team on hand, she’d need to dispatch some of her own staff.”

“I did not know gardeners counted as security staff,” Zelda said, smiling.

“I’m trained in first aid,” Link replied. “CPR, tourniquets― garden work can be rough, after all.”

“I see,” she said. “And you think Lord Ghirahim has not yet exhausted his deep well of generosity.”

She saw the discomfort on Link’s face and felt her stomach twist itself into a knot. “It’s none of my business,” he mumbled.

Well. “Now you have intrigued me.”

He pursed his lips in thought, then sighed. Pushing himself to his feet, he said nothing, but extended his hand out. She accepted his help to stand, placing her hand in his. He pulled her up, but did not release her just yet. His gloved fingers gripped her mitten gently, feeling her own fingers inside. It was a gentle touch, strangely intimate.

She felt him pick out her left ring finger and feel out the bare knuckle there, then shoot her a significant look.

Oh.

_ Oh _ .

Her eyes darted towards Lord Ghirahim, then back to Link, a question unspoken. He gave her a grim smile. The only warning she would get. The only warning she needed.

“Shall we?” He asked, his voice a little hollower than normal.

She was still reeling from his unspoken warning and was displeased when he released her hand. Numbly, she followed him out to the edge of the frozen spring, discomfort making her movements more rigid than necessary.

“How did you find out?” She asked, as they found their footing. Link was clearly struggling, his arms raised at his sides for added balance.

“Service hallways,” Link replied, and she managed a rueful little smile. Of course.

“I am surprised he hasn’t invited tabloids to capture the moment,” she said, bitterly. “Worse, I was sure he would have the sense of picking Lady Cia.” With her big breasts and unbelievably tight snowsuit― oh yes, she’d seen her eyeing Link’s backside just now. After all, clad in sensible jeans, it looked particularly fine. Not that she was  _ looking _ .

“Why would anyone pick her when you’re in the picture?” Link asked.

She stared at him, agog, trying not to let her heart flip-flop in her chest like a fish out of water. Suddenly aware of what he’d said, Link looked up from the ice and his terrible efforts at balance.

“I mean― You’re the future queen.” The cold made his cheeks particularly pink. “I don’t mean to imply― I don’t mean to impugn Lady Cia.”

Right. Served her right. “Of course.”

He looked like he was about to say something more when his balance failed him and he began to flail, feet skating sideways. She reached out to steady him, and he grabbed on her arm gratefully.

“Sorry,” he breathed. The exhalation made a cloud form in front of his mouth, and suddenly she was looking at his mouth, wondering once again what it would taste like. What  _ he  _ would taste like.

Ah. Yes. The other little thing that had kept her awake long past the point of exhaustion, last night.

“Thank you,” he said, hastily, letting go, the embarrassment plain on his face. “I’ve lost the habit. Hilda never liked to skate.”

Hilda?

… Who was  _ Hilda _ ? The question came from a place as cold and unforgiving inside of her chest as the air around them, a little bulb of jealousy and possessiveness that surprised her by its presence, its appearance so sudden that it very nearly stole her breath.

“Hilda?” She asked, with desperate nonchalance.

His face flushed, there was no doubt about it. Had he even meant to say that last sentence out loud? “My ex-girlfriend.” He shook his head. “Uh, don’t mind that. It doesn’t matter.”

No, Zelda disagreed. It mattered a great deal. In fact, it mattered more than anything else, including Lord Ghirahim’s possible ploy to propose and secure a throne for himself. In that moment, nothing mattered except the raw wave of feeling that threatened to overtake her. “You never mentioned her.” She hoped he couldn’t see the little green demon inside her, making a scene. “Were you together long?”

“A while,” Link admitted, and Zelda immediately decided that whoever this Hilda was, she loathed her. And envied her. Damned her. “She left me for my best friend.”

Zelda said nothing, but the thought surfaced nonetheless, smug and scornful: stupid girl. “I’m sorry.”

Link looked more thoroughly embarrassed than anything. “I shouldn’t even be unloading this on you,” he said. “Ignore all that. It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” He shot her sideways glance, then looked back at his feet, focusing on his skating. “I’m over it.”

Zelda didn’t fully believe that, but she was a little glad not to speak of another woman with him anymore. As though sensing the pause in their conversation, Midna slid in front of them, as comfortable on her skates as she was in stilettos.

“Zel, Kafei just told me something you need to know.”

“If Kafei intends to propose to me too, remind him he loves his wife,” Zelda groused.

Midna blinked. “Oh, gods, you heard, then. How?” Her eyes went to Link and a catlike smirk came to her lips. “Never mind.”

Link waved vaguely, still tripping over his own feet. “Go ahead and plot. I’ll be over there trying to learn proprioception.”

Midna snorted in amusement. “I like him,” she said, and Zelda saw Link blush again as he slowly slid away, uncertainly.

“Midna,” Zelda hissed, searching out Lady Cia and Lord Ghirahim among the skaters on the ice. “Is he going to do it in public? In front of everyone we know?”

“Who knows?” Midna sighed. “You’d think he would guess how his proposal will go over, given our conversations of the past few days, but apparently he’s going to try anyway.”

That was the crux of Zelda’s discomfort. What in the world could make Lord Ghirahim confident enough to even try? Was it strictly madness? Or ignorance? Or was it just that he genuinely believed himself the sole worthy prospect?

Her eyes went to Link, who was clumsily circling the outer edge of the ice, and her heart squeezed. Even now she yearned to spend more time with him, unimpeded by responsibility and rank.

“Maybe Lord Ghirahim thinks he needs to hurry,” Midna mused, slyly, noting Zelda’s look. “Before you fall in love with someone inappropriate.”

“Shut up,” Zelda grumbled.  Midna smirked, but nevertheless complied.

It was a nonsense suggestion, of course. As she and Midna glided around the ice, she idly watched her surroundings. Zelda wasn’t at risk of falling in love with someone inappropriate. She wasn’t at risk of falling in love with anyone.

Link was nothing more than… than a diversion. A distraction. And right now, Zelda needed a distraction from her distraction.

“It was good of Paya to send a few helpers along,” Zelda observed to Midna. Nearby, the big redheaded security guard was gamely attempting to teach Kafei and Anju to skate. “Even if they are here for supposed security.”

“Not much to keep us secure from,” Midna said, gliding past Zelda in a neat 3-turn. Then she snorted. “That poor gardener.”

That poor gardener was right: the boisterous guard had looped an arm through Link’s elbow and was now using him as a test dummy, pointing out the various flaws in his technique and crowing brash encouragement.

“Loosen up in the hips!” The man shouted boldly, clapping Link once on the backside. Link wobbled, his arms flailing, but managed to stay on his feet.

A derisive snort drew Zelda’s attention. Ghirahim had skated up. Cia was sulking some distance away, totally ignoring her twin Lana, who was orbiting her in happy circles and waving her hands in delight. 

At the sudden nearness of the duke, Zelda felt her stomach flip-flop.

“It is a true shame the rabble tagged along.” His voice was dripping with disdain as he looked at Groose and Link. “I’ll have to make a complaint to Miss Paya that they spent their time playing on their skates rather than doing their jobs and guarding us.”

“I believe the Dotours asked for help learning to skate,” Zelda said with all the serenity she could muster. “And I invited Link to skate myself.”

“Link, is it?” Ghirahim arched one perfectly-waxed brow. Then he held out his arm. Zelda could see Midna nearby, dithering on whether or not to intervene. “Skate with me, highness? It would be an honor.”

Zelda took a fortifying breath. Better to get this unpleasantness over with. 

“Of course,” she said, and took the duke’s proffered arm. He tugged her gently, and they glided off across the ice.

In the course of her life, Zelda had been forced to dance with the duke on a number of occasions. She was unsurprised to find that he skated just as well as he danced: perfectly, and without any spirit whatsoever.

“The spring is truly beautiful at this time of year, don’t you think?” he asked Zelda, looking around. Pillars of ice rose from the mountain, sparkling like diamonds in the sun. “It glitters, does it not?”

“It does,” Zelda agreed. She kept to herself the observation that the duke had clearly dressed to stand out from his surroundings in a bold jacket of red and gold. Blue drop earrings glittered in his ears ― a tribute to the goddess of wisdom, to whom this spring was dedicated ― and his hair had been artfully tousled by the icy wind. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought him handsome or charming. But every time she looked at him, she found herself comparing him to another and finding him lacking: those dark eyes had no warmth in them, unlike those of a certain gardener, and his hands in their fine white gloves had never done a day’s work…

“I find that I must admit, the only thing lovelier than the spring is you, my princess,” Ghirahim said. Then he laughed ― a tinkling, effeminate thing devoid of warmth. “And perhaps myself.”

“Such humility,” Zelda murmured, half-sarcastic.

“We’re peers,” he said. “Monarchs in our own realms. We have no need for humility.” 

Unbidden, a memory from Zelda’s childhood rose to the back of her mind. In it, she sat in her father’s study, coloring, listening to her parents converse. Her father had said something ― Zelda couldn’t remember what, now, not all these years later ― but her mother had begun to tease him.

“So humble, my king,” she’d said with laughter in her voice. “Give yourself a bit more credit, my love.”

“The measure of a ruler is in words and deeds, true,” Zelda’s father had said, “but the measure of their character is kindness, and I would never wish to think myself so grand that I lose the ability to serve my people well.”

Zelda smiled at the memory. Her father had likely said that explicitly for her benefit: it had stuck, and those words remained a lodestar for her all these years later.

Unfortunately, Ghirahim seemed to think she was smiling at him ― perhaps in agreement, because he continued.

“There’s a matter of some importance that I’d hoped to discuss with you,” he said. “About the future of your kingdom and my duchy both.”

Zelda felt her stomach plummet somewhere to the vicinity of her skates. Oh no…

“There are few peers within the neighboring kingdoms that are equal to us in status and are within our age ranges,” he began, his voice slick as honey. Zelda’s mouth went dry and her heart began thudding in her chest. She felt suddenly like she had before she defended her master’s thesis: queasy with terror, convinced that this was all going to end horribly. “My own dear mother has been after me lately to marry…”

Be daughter-in-law to the Duchess Veran of Faron? No, thank you, Zelda thought. Even if Ghirahim wasn’t the slimiest toad to crawl out of a swamp, the Dowager Duchess was a monster.

“...and I have noticed that you, too, are unattached.” Noticed. Hah.

“That may be so,” Zelda said, seizing the opportunity to jump in and avert disaster before it struck, “but I really don’t feel the need to…”

“A nation is nothing without a royal couple,” Ghirahim said smoothly. “To that end, I propose―”

“Highness,” said a sudden voice, “are you chilled? You look unwell. I’ve brought you cocoa.”

Zelda looked up, straight into Link’s eyes. She exhaled, painfully glad to see him, painfully glad for the interruption. She could see the same anxiety she was trying to hide reflected in his face.

“You interfere, green boy,” said Ghirahim, his words only barely not a snarl. He scanned the ice, then nodded at a tree on the other side of the clearing. “Go fetch me a bough from that pine over there. I require it.”

“But―”

“Go,” Ghirahim said again, and now it was a snarl. Link looked at Zelda in desperation, but she merely summoned a wan smile. She needed to deal with this here, now, put the duke’s machinations to bed for good.

“I am quite alright,” she told him. “Thank you for your concern.”

He nodded once, his blue eyes still determined, and wobbled away, still unsteady on his skates. Zelda watched him go, making his shaky way towards the tree that Ghirahim had indicated.

“As I was saying,” Ghirahim continued, “I’ve given the matter much thought. It is, of course, critical that you and I both marry according to our rank, and to that end, I’ve concluded that the most suitable partner for each of us is―”

The proper thing to do would have been to pay more attention. But Zelda was too busy noticing the darker colour of the ice where Link was headed, and her heart squeezed. The world seemed to slow. Link had skated onto a patch of thin ice. Zelda saw it beginning to crack under his feet. She turned away from Ghirahim.

“Link!” She exclaimed, muscles bunching. Heads turned towards her as she exploded into motion, zipping across the ice. He was still wobbling along, not aware, not realizing―

She reached him a moment before the ice broke, and shoved him hard, pressing her hands between his shoulders and giving him a powerful push.

“What the―” He jerked forward, propelled onto thicker ice, a moment before the lake cracked beneath Zelda with a sound like a whip. A moment later, she was aware of the sensation of falling, and then of cold, bone-deep and cutting, burning colder than anything she’d ever experienced before.

Then her head went under.

* * *

Link stared for a moment at the ice behind him. One moment, the princess had been there ― the next, gone.

_ Go after her, stupid _ , screamed the back of his brain. The voice sounded disconcertingly like that terrifying countess.

His skates... too heavy. Without giving it another thought, Link sat down on the ice and ripped off his skates, even as everyone else hurried over.

“Stay away from the edge,” shouted Groose, calm and capable. He began herding the concerned nobles back. “It’s thin.”

Link pulled off his heavy coat, desperately scanning the water for sign of Zelda. How long ago had she gone under? Thirty seconds? Forty?

“Link, catch,” Groose called, tossing him a length of rope that he’d been carrying on the belt at his waist. Link took it, tied it around his own middle, and took a deep breath.

This was going to hurt.

The onlookers gasped and tittered as Link jumped. A moment later, the cold cut through him like icy knives. It burned ― how could cold burn like fire? ― but Link disregarded it, swimming down.

He groped blindly in the darkness. Under the ice it was nearly black. He reached ― the lake here wasn’t that deep ― and a moment later, he felt a sodden, flailing mitten. He grabbed it, but the hand within slipped free. He threw the mitten aside and reached again. He caught a sleeve and tightened until his fingers were wrapped around cold flesh.

He gave two great tugs on the rope. A moment later, he felt himself and Zelda towed upwards, towards the chilly surface. Link pulled her up, his hands clutching their way down her body, towing her so that she was flush against him, then higher than him, so that her head would breach the surface first. His lungs strained. He was desperate to gasp― partially from pain, partially from air deprivation. Surely he hadn’t been down that long…?

The surface was just above their heads. She broke through, then him. They gasped wintry air as one. 

“Get them out,” Groose shouted to a few of the other security staff who had been milling around the edges of the lake before everything had gone to hell. “Cawlin, get them to cabin three. Stritch is getting a fire going in there. Fledge, get everyone into the helicopters. The outing’s over.”

“Now see here―” Ghirahim started.

Groose rounded on him.

“Now  _ you _ see here,” the guard started. “I’m head of security, and that means that the safety of you and these other people is my responsibility. It’s my job to―”

Link stopped paying attention to the diatribe as he made his way to his feet, which stuck uncomfortably to the ice. Cawlin was hauling the princess over his shoulder. Her lips were blue and her hair clung to her face in sodden swirls.

“This way,” Cawlin said. “Can you walk?”

“F-f-f-f-for n-no-now,” Link chattered. He hurried with Cawlin towards the cabin. The terrifying countess followed, skating slowly beside him.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her usual cool reserve gone in a storm of frantic panic. “Is she alright?”

“She will be,” said Cawlin. “We’ll need your help, though.” They’d reached the cabin now, and Link held the door open for Cawlin, who was still hauling the princess. The countess followed them inside, tottering on the blades of her skates.

Inside, it wasn’t much warmer than it was outdoors, but Stritch was working hard on building up a fire in the fireplace. He looked up at Link.

“Strip,” he told Link. “Get out of those wet clothes. Put that on instead.” He nodded at a reflective thermal blanket on the bed. “Your grace, please help the princess disrobe. Cawlin will hold a blanket to protect Her Highness’ modesty.”

The countess looked for a moment as though she might argue, then nodded. Cawlin settled the princess on a bed, then held a blanket up before it and turned his face away, effectively hiding the future queen from view. Link, meanwhile, had begun struggling out of his sodden clothes. They hit the floor with wet splats.

He was shivering, shaking so hard that it was difficult to move. When Stritch finished with the fire, he came over and helped Link struggle out of his undershirt and boxers. Ordinarily, Link might have been embarrassed to disrobe before others like this, but he was so cold that he didn’t care. Stritch wrapped Link in the thermal blanket, then pushed him over to a chair before the fire.

“Sit,” he ordered. “Warm up. I’ll make you a hot beverage.” He glanced over at the blanket. “How is everything back there, your grace?”

“Coming―” the countess grunted, “―along.” There was a wet slap, and the princess’ turtleneck appeared at Cawlin’s ankles. “Zelda, are you alright? Talk to me.”

“Th-th-th,” the princess stuttered. “That s-s-sweat-t-ter w-w-was d-d-d-d-dry cc-cle-clean-n-n-n on-n-n-ly. I t-t-t-t-told-d-d y-y-you...”

“Well, next time we go shopping, I’ll listen to you if you don’t pick out such dowdy clothes,” the countess snapped back, worry making her voice brisk. There was another grunt, then a wet plop as the princess’ elegant trousers hit the floor. “Though I have to say, when I encouraged you in college to get naked in a houseful of men sometime, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

“H-h-ha h-ha.”

“I know. I’m hilarious.” A last wet slap, and something white and lacy hit the ground. Link realized it was the princess’ underwear. If he weren’t so cold, he might be blushing. “Come on. Wrap up.”

There was a rustling noise. A moment later, the princess emerged from behind the blanket, blue and barefoot and shivering like a leaf in the wind. The countess hustled her over to the fire, plopped her down in front of the flames, and went to bundle up her clothes.

“Stay there, Zel,” the countess snapped. “Get warm. And you―” she added, looking around at the men. “Don’t get any funny ideas about the princess. Especially not you, garden boy,” she added, her russet eyes narrowing at Link. A protest was on his lips when the princess spoke.

“Oh, I d-d-d-don’t kn-kn-kn-know,” she shivered. “M-m-m-might h-help us w-w-w-warm-m up-p-p.”

“Do me a favor,” said the countess. There was an edge to her voice that Link recognized as her own particular brand of fear and concern. “Don’t try to be clever. Don’t even try to talk. Just sit there and focus on not dying of hypothermia.”

Zelda nodded once. She was wet and ragged. Shivering and shuddering, Link scooted closer to her and closer still until their sides were touching. She laid her head on his shoulder, shivering and shaking. Stritch pressed mugs of hot water into both of their hands and ordered them to drink, then withdrew. Link could hear him talking quietly to the countess and Cawlin at the back of the cabin, but didn’t try to make out their words. Instead, he sipped his drink. Warmth curled through him, slow but sure: from the water first, and from the slow radiance of the fire. 

Several mugs later ― Once he’d stopped shaking so hard that speech was nearly impossible ― Link sighed.

“Why did you push me?” He asked as he watched the fire.

She’d mostly stopped shaking, too, and now she nestled a little more closely into his side. She seemed to be thinking. Her hair, still wet down her back, seemed to be drying at the roots.

“Even princesses can be h-heroes from time to time,” she finally said after a moment.

What could Link say to that?

“What was it you told me a few days ago?” That was the countess, her voice arch. “There’s a fine line between courage and recklessness?”

Zelda sighed.

“Midna…”

She seemed to want to argue. Then she shook her head.

“Thank you for staying, Midna,” she said.

Outside, the chopping sound of helicopter blades came and went, until at last Groose returned, looking concerned.

“We need to retrieve a change of clothes for them,” he murmured. “There’s a selection in the rental shack, but I don’t know her size.” Midna looked torn, glancing back at them both. Zelda raised a brow, though Link hardly budged.

“I’m fine,” she said. “You can go. I’ll wait right here.”

“I will not,” said the countess. “I’m not leaving you here naked and alone. It’s not proper.”

“We’re not going to get up to anything indecorous, Midna,” the princess said, and now Link heard a backbone of steel in her voice. “Go. It’s fine.” 

Cawlin and Stritch had long gone to coordinate helicopter arrivals and departures, but Link could hear Groose shifting uneasily in the background. After a moment, they sighed.

“You don’t move from here,” Midna commanded, firmly. “I will be right back. You hear me?  _ Right back _ .”

There was some rustling as they left the small cabin, and a soft thunk as the door was shut behind them.

Then Link and Zelda were alone.

* * *

“I’m sorry.”

Zelda glanced at Link through her matted hair. He was staring at the flames in front of them, looking pale. His voice had been quite soft.

“Why?” She asked.

He scowled. “I put you in danger. I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t― You shouldn’t have―”

He searched for better words and did not find any.

Zelda snorted. “As proposal interruptions go,” she said, lightly, “it was a little extreme, but I can’t say I feel sorry about it.”

“You could have died. I could have died. Over some stupid heroics―”

“I would like to remind you that Lord Ghirahim sent you across that ice. Had I noticed it sooner, you’d still be dry and clothed. Mostly I’m sorry he was such an ass to you. Now I have a wonderful excuse to give him a proper dressing down.”

“I’m glad you can see the humour in it,” Link mumbled.

Humour? Not humour, necessarily. Her body had only just finally calmed down. Her heart had pounded loudly, her muscles had been tense― it had, all in all, been the most unpleasant experience she’d ever suffered.

There had been little to laugh about, looking up at that distant sheet of surface ice, so paralyzed by the cold and the weight of the water and the shock and the fear and that choking feeling―  _ Gods _ . She buried her face into her arms, curling the blanket around herself with a loud crinkle.

“Princess―?”

The tears on her cheeks were hot. A blessing. She hadn’t believed herself capable of ever knowing warmth again. “I’m sorry too,” she warbled.

He pressed closer against her side, uncertainty in his every muscle. “Don’t be.”

“I’m sorry you were dragged into this. You have been so patient and generous with your time. I am your future queen, I owed you better. I owed you safety.” Inhaling deeply, she pressed the heels of her hands against her cheeks, forcefully wiping the tears away. Blinking, she tried to regain her composure. “Forgive me. I just need a minute.”

When she looked at him, she saw the calm on his face.

The question came out despite her better judgement. “How did you find it in you to jump after me? I didn’t― you must have gone in almost immediately.”

Now he looked less calm. When he turned away, his profile was lit warmly, firelight dancing on his features, brightening his blue eyes. “I’m of no consequence,” he explained. “Your life for mine was a no-brainer.”

_ Idiot _ , her heart whispered, tightening in her chest.

The metallic blanket loosened around her shoulders, but she didn’t care. She shifted her position, holding the blanket closed around herself with one hand… and leaning towards him with the other.

Her lips brushed his cheek, fleetingly, softly― lighter than she wanted, because she was unsteady, but it was enough to sense the warmth that was returning to him, to feel the infinitesimal scratch of hair on his skin, to smell the scent of him ― male, warm, heady.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

She was about to pull away when his hand darted out and gripped her blanket, so she couldn’t escape any further, and then suddenly his lips were upon hers, the pressure firm, the texture soft, and then she could taste him, more of him, more of that particular scent and flavour that was uniquely Link.

Oh, gods.

_ He’s kissing me _ .

His tongue― she gave way and now she tasted him more, felt him, and for the most thrilling of heartbeats her head seemed to lighten, her eyes fluttered closed, and she surrendered. The barrage did not stop; his lips were relentless, turning one kiss into many, melting into one another, so that eventually she was nothing but a puddle of sensation, overwhelmed and exhilarated, inebriated with the smell and taste and feel of him.

When he pulled away and she felt the cold settle in between their lips, she nearly whined.

The silence that followed was heavy― she opened her eyes and found herself looking directly into his, the confusion on his face matching the stunned breathlessness that remained in her.

_ What WAS that? _ Every sense in her mind was screaming with alarm, as though her world had just been inverted on its axis, and suddenly Zelda became aware of a loud pounding noise, the sound of her heart in her ears, her chest, her very limbs. She felt electrified, vulnerable, powerful.

_ Do it again _ .

Before she could move, however, horror spread on Link’s face and he pulled away, scrambling awkwardly away. “I’m sorry― I shouldn’t have― I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

His ears were bright red and he’d covered his face with a hand, the better to hide his embarrassment.

Yes, he hadn’t been thinking. Neither had she. That was the point. The thrilling, wonderful point.

“Link―”

The sounds of crunching snow outside interrupted her. Seconds later the door reopened and Midna entered, followed by Groose, carrying two bundles of cloth.

“Dry clothes,” Midna announced. She saw the new distance between them. “Oh, good,” she deadpanned. “Propriety triumphs.”

Zelda glared at her.

“I’ll be out of your way,” Link said, accepting the clothes from Groose. As Groose manœuvred a makeshift curtain for Link to change behind, Zelda took Midna’s hand in order to stand. If the fire and the blankets and the hot water and the quiet hadn’t sufficed to warm her up, Link’s kiss had certainly done the trick. She felt antsy― restless. She needed to talk to him alone. Somehow. She had to find a way before tonight―

“I think that’s a new record,” Midna observed, when Groose lowered his curtain and Zelda saw that Link was fully clothed again, with a sweater that was a little too big for him. He accepted an oversized winter coat and slid it on, pulling a thick woolen hat over his ears and, before Zelda could ask him to slow down, he nodded to Groose and headed for the door.

Stuck as she was in her thermal blanket, she could do nothing but watch him go.

As soon as the door closed behind the two men and the princess and duchess were alone, Midna turned to her, squinting. “Something happened.”

Zelda turned to her, mouth agape. “I― No. Stop that. Nothing happened.”

“Something happened,” Midna said again, squinting harder. “And you will tell me what. Do I need to call the police?”

Zelda rolled her eyes. “You’ve never been this protective,” she reminded her. “Don’t start now.”

“I’ve never had reason to. Ooh, you have to tell me. Did he grope you?” Midna gasped, eyes wide. “Did  _ you  _ grope  _ him _ ?”

Zelda didn’t need a mirror to know she was flushed. “Stop. Shut up. Don’t be stupid.”

“Zelda, Zelda, Zelda,” Midna said, unfolding the clothes she’d selected, “sexual assault is a crime. You should come forward before he reports you.”

“I didn’t―” She made a strangled noise. “You’re the worst.” She grabbed underwear and began to slip it on, letting the blanket crumble around her. “I need to talk to him.”

“Purchase his silence,” Midna nodded. “Sound plan. Most aristocrats do.”

“Midna,” Zelda warned. “That’s enough.”

“Is it? You’ll have to forgive me, but when I return after five minutes of absence to find my royal best friend looking guilty with a man who can’t look her in the eye―”

“He kissed me,” Zelda blurted, her voice weak. “Alright? He kissed me.”

Midna watched her pull on a sweater. “That’s it? I need more. Was it any good?”

Good? Zelda paused as she adjusted the sweater around her waist.  _ Good _ ? The memory of it would warm her up for years to come. Good was an understatement. Good was… insufficient.

“It was fine,” she replied, feeling the flush of heat spread from her chest.

Midna made a sound, so Zelda shot her a stifling glare.

“It was  _ nothing _ ,” she insisted. “We both avoided death today. Emotions were running high. It― It doesn’t have to mean anything.” And she had not just fallen in love with an orphan gardener. Gods, it could not have happened that way.

“So what does  _ nothing  _ taste like?” Midna asked, flatly, as Zelda pulled hideous corduroy trousers on.

“Like heaven on a cupcake,” Zelda groused. “He is a very good kisser.”

“It so figures,” Midna said. “The best ones are always commoners.”

Zelda finished putting on her socks, then gratefully slid on her boots, which had remained mercifully dry. As Midna helped her into a thick winter coat, she found herself enveloped in a feeling of terrible helplessness.

If she were anyone else― if there were no crown waiting for her head―

And suddenly she was engulfed in Midna’s arms, her embrace tight and firm.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” the countess said, her voice small and buried in Zelda’s matted hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t intervene.”

Emotion came over them both, and Zelda hugged her tightly.

At length, she said, “I hate to dismiss the one time you’ve shown genuine emotion, but I’m going to need your help.”

“I know,” Midna said, her voice still wobbly. “I’m going to make you drop-dead gorgeous for tonight, don’t worry. He won’t know what hit him, the poor sod.”

And then Midna squeezed her tighter. There was little else Zelda could do but laugh **.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyx:** See how I wrote the ice rescue and left you all the loving care of writing the cozy cabin make-out?  
>  **CM:** That's straight-up gallantry, in my book.


	6. Chapter 6

Link’s second-ever helicopter ride was over before it started. In that, it was like his first-ever helicopter ride: on the way up the mountain, he’d been a bundle of nerves and distraction, wondering if he should warn the princess, wondering if he’d be able to find a way to do so. Now, on the ride down the mountain, Link sat in the back of the helicopter with the rest of the security team, his mind churning.

What had he been thinking? That was the problem, really. He hadn’t been. He’d had a momentary lapse of sanity ― a terrifyingly common occurrence where his future-queen was concerned ― and had just… acted. On impulse. Link was never impulsive, ever. Hilda had once accused him of needing a well-reasoned plan before he did something as mundane as brushing his teeth.

But no, he’d gone over all… all imbecilic, and he’d kissed the princess.

_ My  _ princess, he thought, the possessiveness alien and inappropriate and relentless.

His mind kept replaying that moment over and over ― the sudden relief that she was alright, the intoxicating nearness of her, all overwhelming his senses until he’d reached out, idiot that he was, and molested Zelda. Part of him pointed out that she hadn’t pulled away, but he was certain that she’d… that she’d what? Returned his affections. Not hardly, he thought with a mental snort. Likely she was just so glad to be alive she’d kissed him back without thinking. Near death experiences created an artificial intimacy that way ― or so Link had been told. He’d never had cause to find out until now.

The helicopter ride was smooth, but Link still felt his stomach churning like a dozen like-likes roiled within. Actually, Link wouldn’t mind if a like-like oozed up and swallowed him right about now. Then he’d never have to look the princess in the eye again ― wouldn’t have to live with the agony if she didn’t ―

The helicopter touched down on the lawn of Lanayru Heights Park with a soft bump, jolting him from his thoughts. Link shrunk into his seat, trying to hide behind Groose, as the pilot secured the machine, then gave the ladies permission to disembark. Like him, the princess wore borrowed clothes, and unlike him, she looked adorable in them. The sweater sleeves, far too long, had been rolled up to free her hands. The coat she wore made her look like a child playing dress up. Link would have smiled, but he felt too miserable too smile. Too ashamed.

Thank the Goddesses the princess didn’t look at him as she left the helicopter. If she had, he would’ve burst into flames on the spot. A confused kind of embarrassment churned that brightly within him… and below it, white-hot need, hunger.

He wanted to kiss her again. And that was the problem.

Link tilted his head back, breathing slowly and shakily. Groose planted a hand on Link’s shoulder.

“You alright?”

“Fine,” Link lied. “Stomach’s a bit upset after…” He made a vague gesture, hoping that Groose would think Link was airsick, or rattled from his near-death experience, or anything other than dying of want. It seemed to work: Groose nodded sympathetically, then looped a hand under Link’s armpit and drew him to his feet.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get inside. We have to make an official statement about what happened.”

Link drew off his ear protection and nodded wearily, then followed Groose out of the helicopter. It was so  _ cold _ ― he still wasn’t fully warm, he thought ― and Link thought longingly of his little apartment in nearby Kakariko, with its cranky radiator and his bed with its nice warm sheets. What he wouldn’t give to be in that bed… all curled up nice and warm… maybe the princess beside him…

No, he corrected himself. Enough of that foolishness. That was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place.

Link followed Groose down to his office. Two law enforcement officers stood there, as well as a member of the royal guard ― hastily come up from his nearby posting in Kakariko, from the looks of it.

“Gentlemen,” said Groose, gesturing that they should all take seats. “Thank you for getting here so quickly.”

“The princess is safe?”

“She is,” Groose confirmed. “She’s none the worse for wear, though she did give us all a fright. Here’s what happened.”

Link sat in a daze, chiming in when asked. Had anyone pushed the princess? Had anyone seemed to manifest ill will towards her? Then, more intrusive: what had he been doing on such thin ice? Didn’t he know it wasn’t safe?

“I was following the directions of Duke Ghirahim of Faron,” Link said woodenly. “I had interrupted him in conversation with the princess, and he didn’t take it well.”

That set off a second round of questions, this time about the duke and the nature of the duke’s relationship with the princess. By the time everyone was satisfied, it was well after lunchtime, and Link’s stomach was snarling like a wolf.

“Lousy buggers,” Groose muttered as they watched the last of their ‘guests’ make their way down the lawn towards the parking lot. “Implying you might have done that on purpose.”

Link shook his head.

“Come on,” said Groose. “Let’s get you something to eat. I think they can hear your stomach in Tabantha.”

Meek and miserable, Link followed Groose down to the kitchen. It was total chaos in preparation for that night’s festivities; fortunately, a large pot of pumpkin soup had been set aside for the staff, and Link and Groose tucked into it gratefully.

Link had never had the opportunity to realize how many members of Paya’s staff he’d come to know, but it seemed they were all eager to see him, touch him, pat him on the back now. In ones or twos, they passed through the kitchen, congratulating him on his bravery. It amazed him.

It was loud in the kitchen, and incredibly hot, and Link found himself slowly coming back to life as he listened to the cacophony of clattering pots and pans and yells and conversation. At the end of his first bowl of soup, he started thinking of something other than his own misery. By the end of his second, he was feeling almost well enough to admire the magnificent works of art being constructed out of spun sugar and candied fruit in the bakery area.

“Feeling better, then?” Groose asked Link as he pushed his bowl away with a sigh. The big man squinted. “Your color’s almost come back.”

“Feeling better,” Link said, because he was, though guilt still churned in him. What he needed, he thought, was to apologize. Bravery or not, he’d acted inappropriately. He needed to tell her that he was sorry, that he hadn’t been thinking, that he’d been overcome…

“Good,” said Groose. “Let’s get you to wardrobe to fit your costume for tonight.”

The masque. Link stifled a groan. How had he forgotten?

Groose, seeing the misery on Link’s face, smirked.

“Better you than me,” the guard said. “Now come on. Up.”

As they were leaving the kitchen, they ran headfirst into Pipit, who was wild-eyed and vaguely mussed. Link wondered if the man had slept.

“Link, good,” he said. “Just the man I was looking for. Good work saving the princess today.”

“Uh―” Link started, but Pipit was still going.

“The princess’ usual escort has recovered from his illness and shown up, ready to work. Your services won’t be needed tonight after all, and I know Granté is desperate for help with the ballroom, so―” Pipit made a little shooing motion with his hands.

Link stared at his boss for a long, confused moment, trying to understand what he’d just babbled out.

Link wouldn’t be going to the masque tonight?

The princess didn’t need him anymore?

That was it?

Groose guffawed and clapped Link on the shoulder.

“Lucky break for you,” he said. “You looked like you were about to go to your own funeral. You must be relieved.”

“Yeah,” Link said, summoning a wan smile. “For sure. Alright, Pipit. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll―  I’ll go find Granté.”

As he made his way down the hallway, dazed, he thought he heard Pipit ask Groose behind him, “Is he alright?”

“Of course he’s not alright. He nearly died―” Groose started.

Link shut them out.

This was a good thing, he tried to convince himself as he made his way to the ballroom, focused on putting one foot in front of the other. After his completely appalling behavior earlier, it was a good thing that he wouldn’t be accompanying the princess this evening. And if she didn’t see him ― if he just vanished from her awareness ― maybe he could avoid the consequences of his disastrous slip. 

One thing was for sure. Lunacy or not, mistake or not… he would miss her.

Link pushed into the ballroom to find total chaos. Granté was running around, barking orders.

“Link, good,” the other gardener said as Link wandered over, still in a fog. “You alright? People keep saying you’re a bona fide hero, and I keep telling them, ‘No way, our Link? Ain’t got a bone of courage in his body.’” He clapped Link’s shoulder laughingly, as Link forced a smile. “How was the water?.”

“Nothing a little soup couldn’t fix,” Link said with false cheer.

Granté’s pale eyes narrowed. “Hmm.” Then his gaze shot past Link and his eyes went wide. “No, no, you can’t put the holly there―”

“Uh. What do you need me to do?” Link asked as Granté sped across the room.

“Centerpieces,” Granté barked back, then resumed course for the poor junior gardener who was teetering atop a latter, a huge bough of Hateno holly held in his hands.

Link wiped his hands on his borrowed trousers and turned, looking at the long refreshment tables that ran around the outside of the ballroom. Centerpieces. He could do those. Putting all thoughts of the princess aside, he focused on what he was good at: working with spiky plants and not getting bitten by them.

Much, much later, he pushed his his hair away from his sweaty brow. A glance through the windows showed that the sun was going down. There were still a few hours left before dinner, but still ― Link’s work, and the work of the other gardeners and decorators, was done for now.

“You hungry?” Granté asked Link, sagging up. Granté looked just as weary as Link felt, which was impressive, given that the other man hadn’t nearly drowned in ice water earlier that day.

“Not really.” The pumpkin soup was tiding Link over well, and between that and the residual unhappiness, he didn’t have an appetite. He looked down at his borrowed clothing and shook his sleeves once. “I think I’m going to go down to wardrobe. See if Miss Purah can loan me something in my size.”

“Alright.” Granté nodded. His friendly face became cloudy with concern. “Link… For real… about what happened earlier… Are you alright?”

He thought again about the feel of the princess’ lips beneath his own, the taste of her, the smell of her skin once all of that ice water had washed away her expensive perfumes and lotions and shampoos: clean, crisp, a little like the soft scent of a Silent Princess.

Then Link realized Granté was asking about his trip into the water.

“I will be,” Link said, lying again, because how could he ever be alright? How would he ever be the same again? He’d gone and done something incredibly, remarkably stupid, and now that he knew he loved the princess, life would be hollow, devoid of color.

The realization stopped him in his tracks.

He  _ loved  _ her.

He shook his head. It was too incredible ― too foolish ― to believe.

Granté looked at Link’s face for a long moment, searching, then gave a funny little not-smile.

“You’re as unreadable as a granite block, as usual,” the fellow gardener murmured. “Alright. Do you want me to come down to wardrobe with you?” His stomach gave a gurgle, and Link grinned.

“No,” Link said. “Go eat. I’ll catch up with you before I leave.”

Granté nodded. “Alright.”

He left, and Link turned and walked in the opposite direction, making his way towards the staff hallways and the narrow stairs that would take him to the basement where Purah plied her craft. His heart was thundering. His mouth was dry.

He  _ loved _ the princess. When had that happened? And how? The kiss hadn’t been the catalyst… had it? No, that was foolishness. The kiss was a symptom, not the cause. Because even though he wanted to kiss her again, that wasn’t all he wanted. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to know if she was alright after going into the water like that. He wanted to know if she was as shaken and confused as he was… or if she was upset.

He couldn’t bear the thought that he might have hurt her.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Link said, timing his words with each step down the stairs towards Purah’s basement. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

He made his way up the hallway to the costume workshop, then took a deep breath at the door. The tiny seamstress was incorrigible, and even though he wasn’t in the mood for her teasing, it might distract him. Plus, he really did need clothes that would fit him. He summoned his courage and before it could desert him, he raised his knuckles and knocked. 

The door swung open a moment later. Purah looked up at him, eyes huge behind their red frames. She looked worried.

“Link,” she said. She was uncharacteristically serious. “Good. You’re here. Come in. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Link tilted his head.

“Is everything alright?” He asked her.

“You tell me.” She led him into the workshop, and Link let the door squeak shut behind him.

“What do you mean? If this is about the spring, I’m fine, not that anybody seems to be listening to me...”

She’d paused, and now crouched down to open a safe. She rooted around inside for a moment, then turned, hand held out.

In the center of her tiny, pale palm was a ruby ensignia of a Triforce and firebird. Link exhaled as though he’d been punched in the stomach.

“The princess’ brooch,” he said. “Where did you find it?”

She looked at him for a long time.

“You don’t know?” She asked him.

“Know?” Link stared at it with wonder, thinking of the look that would be on Zelda’s face when she got it back ― delight, maybe gratitude, maybe something even softer. “Know what?”

“This brooch,” Purah said slowly, enunciating every word clearly, “was in the pocket of your dinner jacket from yesterday, Link.”

Link stared a moment longer as his brain struggled, for the second time that day, to understand what was being said to him.

“I found it just now, as I was cleaning up your things. I thought about calling security,” the little Sheikah said. “But I wanted to give you a chance to explain. Can you?”

Link’s mouth was dry. He looked up at the little woman.

“I didn’t take it,” he said. “I didn’t even know it was in there… I don’t know how…”

She watched him for a long moment, then nodded once solemnly.

“Considering your dive today… I believe you,” she said. “But if you didn’t put it there, and I didn’t put it there, then who did?”

“I don’t…” Suddenly assailed by more questions, Link could feel his mind was sluggish. There was the exhaustion, of course, and the stress, and the sadness, but that wasn’t all. Under the weight of constant interrogation, he could hardly remember what he’d had for breakfast that very morning. It felt like the day’s events had aged him by a decade, and the afternoon was only drawing to a close. “I can’t― There were plenty of people I spoke to yesterday.”

He sat on a workstool next to a cutting table, suddenly feeling his fatigue like a physical pressure. Shaking his head, he tried to retrace his steps mentally― he’d left the wardrobe…

“Is it true you and the princess nearly drowned?” Purah asked, eyes sharp.

Link nodded, sighing. “Today hasn’t exactly been my day,” he said.

“Almost like it was on purpose.”

“No, it was an accident― the Duke asked me to fetch a bough, and she―” She’d pushed him out of the way. She didn’t have to do that. Her life for his― “She tried to save me. She fell through.”

“The Duke sent you on thin ice? Was that...  Did he know?”

He had to have known, Link thought. He couldn’t have known Zelda would come after him, though. The Duke was a social climber, and Zelda was the next rung. “No. He didn’t mean to hurt her, I think.”

Purah huffed. “Well, maybe not the princess, but you? Could the Duke have wanted to hurt you?”

“Definitely,” Link laughed humourlessly. “I ruined his proposal attempt. He tried to get me out of the picture.”

Purah’s eyes went to the brooch. “Do you think…”

Link shook his head. “No. He didn’t approach me at all yesterday. He glared daggers across the ballroom, but for the most part he stayed with Lady Cia― Wait.” He stood again, feeling a jolt of nervosity. “Lady Cia. Could it have been her?”

“She could have had access to the Princess’ belongings,” Purah mused. “Her luggage was sent in at the same time. But I thought the Princess said she’d lost the brooch in the gardens?”

“The princess had it in her coat pocket,” Link said slowly, his mind whirling. “She thought it fell out. But I don’t think it did…”

He remembered in a flash the way that Cia had rubbed up against him, her hand sliding against his side.

Well. Apparently the noblewoman had the knowledge of a pickpocket.

But Purah didn’t know that. “Even if Lady Cia got ahold of the brooch, how did it get from her hand to your pocket?”

Link felt suddenly dirty, used. Violated. “She cornered me. Put her hands inside my coat. Tried to get me to―” He shook his head, hands patting his clothes in memory, trying to make sense of it all. She’d been so  _ fast _ with her hands. “She could have…”

“She groped you,” Purah said, scowling. “You let Lady Cia grope you, but I bite the dust? Really?”

Link shot her an annoyed glare. “I didn’t  _ let  _ her. She didn’t give me a choice.”

Purah pursed her lips. “ _ Someone’s _ been trying to get you out of the picture a lot, haven’t they?” 

Link set his jaw, trying to ignore the bitter taste of disappointment in his mouth. “For nothing, anyway. The princess’ usual companion is back for the evening.”

Purah sighed, inhaled, but she was cut off by the sound of steps on the stairs. Turning to the door, they both saw Miss Paya descending, looking harried.

“Purah, I need a change of clothes―” She slowed, noticing Link. “Link! Thank goodness. I heard about this morning. I’m so glad you’re alright.”

She reached his side and squeezed his arm. As employers went, Paya was quite possibly the kindest Link had ever known. He smiled down at her gratefully.

“Thank you, Miss Paya.”

“Why do you need a change of clothes?” Purah asked, frowning. “You picked out the Sheikah Heritage costume for tonight.”

“Not for me,” Paya said. “For―” She turned to Link and managed a shy little smile. “Forgive me, it’s for Misko, Princess Zelda’s companion. He doesn’t have a costume, given how sudden his return was. I was thinking, with that flaxen hair and all, maybe we could lend him the Ancient Hero outfit.” She scanned the racks of clothes around them, frowning with concern. “I think it’s in here, somewhere…”

“Oh, it’s here,” Purah said, blandly, though she did not move an inch to assist in the search. “Although it’s not the only treasure one finds in my wardrobe.” Opening her hand, she revealed the ruby brooch, and Paya froze.

“That…” Her wide eyes went from Purah, to Link, then back to Purah. “That’s Zelda’s brooch!” She plucked it from Purah’s palm and studied it, turning it over. “It’s the proper inscription. No doubt about it. Oh, she’ll be thrilled, her costume wasn’t complete without it. How did you―”

“Link found it,” Purah said, nonchalantly, and Link turned a wary eye upon her.

But Miss Paya wasn’t paying attention. “Where ―” She shook her head. “Nevermind. It doesn’t matter, anyhow.” She cradled the brooch carefully in her hands. “I’ll return it to her right away.”

“Or,” Purah said, as Miss Paya seemed to forget the reason she had even come downstairs, “you could let Link do it, as soon as I get him a change of clothes.”

Paya raised her eyes to study Link, and a slight blush came over her features that Link didn’t fully understand. She examined his features, clearly thinking hard.

“Is that something you want?” She asked him. Link wasn’t sure he understood the question. At his look of confusion, Miss Paya clarified, “Would you like to see her again?”

Link blinked, uncertain, his eyes going from one diminutive woman to the other. “I―” Did he want to see her again? Yes. Obviously. Was it obvious? Maybe. Was that good? “I don’t―”

Miss Paya sighed, deflating. “It’s just… She really likes you, Link. But dating a princess isn’t easy.”

He was fairly certain she was still talking, but all Link could hear was a strange rumbling sound. He watched Miss Paya’s pink lips move and move and move, but nothing she said made any sense. His mind was stuck in a loop.

_ She really likes you, Link. _

Dating a princess.

Dating a princess?

_ Dating  _ a princess?

“... And you’ll have to be ready to face all that,” Miss Paya was still talking, in her usual gentle manner. “It can be very daunting.”

Link inhaled. “Wait. She likes me?” It felt unbelievably juvenile, but his heart was racing. She liked him? Or had he ruined everything by assaulting her? Or was she― “Really?”

Purah snickered. Miss Paya looked dismayed.

“If you don’t feel the same,” she said, “it might be better if I―”

“I can bring it back to her,” Link hastily said, feeling heat flood his face.

“Paya,” Purah said, all trace of amusement fading. Miss Paya turned to look at her quizzically. “This is all well and good, but I think we need to discuss Lord Ghirahim. He tried to kill Link earlier today― he’s not going to take it well.”

Miss Paya was still clutching the brooch in her hands. She looked down at it. “He’s a Duke,” she said, hesitantly.

Purah seemed to have steam coming out of her ears. “That doesn’t give him the right―”

But Paya’s eyes were steely now. “There’s a procedure to follow,” she interrupted, uncharacteristically. “We can’t proceed to a citizen’s arrest. He outranks most of us. And I fear he’d run if we tried.”

“So he gets away with nearly killing Zelda?” Link blurted out. Catching their looks, he tried to collect himself. “I mean the Princess.” And him, technically, not that it mattered.

“ _ Respectfully _ , Link,” Paya said, and with Miss Paya, there was no doubt she truly meant it, “I am not at liberty to discuss any of this. Let’s just say it would be far more convenient if Lord Ghirahim were to remain under this roof this evening, preferably in the ballroom, while the investigators perform their due diligence. In the meantime,” she took his hand and gave him the brooch, “please return this to its rightful owner, and leave the rest to me.”

Link looked down at the ruby brooch in his hands. Each stone had to be worth more than a year of his salary. Holding it felt daunting, like he was holding his future in his hands. He inhaled deeply, feeling his quiet, organized life beginning to crumble around him, like his entire world had been nothing but a decor, while beyond it lay something greater, something real.

“What you’re about to do requires courage,” Paya said. “Perhaps even more courage than what you demonstrated this morning at the Spring. Your entire life might change depending on your actions tonight.”

“No pressure,” Purah whispered lightly.

Link was silent for a long moment. Thoughts whirled through his head too fast for him to seize. Possibilities, for one, but also feelings― hope, fear, doubt, joy ― all of which he had essentially stopped feeling in the many months since Hilda’s betrayal. From the ashes of his numbness, he was awakening to a whole new world of light and vulnerability.

Zelda liked him. Liked  _ him _ ! It wasn’t love― it couldn’t be ― but it was a whole lot better than what she felt for Lord Ghirahim. Link could work with that. Gods, he was fairly certain that, if he played his cards right, he’d have a princess in his arms by midnight tonight. And Miss Paya, her friend, her actual girlhood friend, had all but given him her blessing to try.

A commoner and a royal. It wasn’t unheard of, of course. There were Zelda’s own parents― not to mention the clear interest they’d generated after a single evening side by side...  It was more than possible. It was exciting, almost like kissing Zelda again.

Well. Not quite as pleasant, but still.

When he raised his eyes again, he felt grounded, focused, ready to tackle the world. Better yet, he was fairly certain he had an actual plan. He always felt better when he had a plan.

He was startled to see that his expression caused twin blushes on both Miss Purah and Miss Paya’s faces.

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” Purah said, looking mildly irritated. “It just figures that princesses always get the first pick. So what’ll it be?”

Link couldn’t help but grin. “Looks like Misko isn’t the only one who needs a last-minute costume.” Purah keened excitedly, but Link ignored that and smiled at Paya. “Miss Paya, I’m going to need one of your skeleton keys.”

“Why?” She frowned.

Link put the ruby brooch in his pocket. “Because Princess Zelda risked her life for me today, and she deserves someone who can slay her dragons for good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CM:** Ready for the showdown?  
>  **Lyx:** Of course. I still have tropes I haven't used yet.


	7. Chapter 7

Zelda’s costume was incomplete. For all that she was dressed as an ancient Queen of Hyrule, her gown a mix of golden armour and delicately embroidered satin, her collarline, which had been left deliberately ungarnished, was missing a brooch.

It was a shame. The rubies and the gold had been the perfect matching shade for the red, pink and white of her clothes. Even her shoes and her mask, which were adorned in smaller rubies, had been created to match.

But worse still was the thought that she had lost a precious gift from her father. The thought ached like a bullet hole in her mind.

Misko hardly noticed. In his costume ― a highway bandit, it looked like, or perhaps an ancient trouvère ― he looked as elegant and aloof as always. Paya had found a costume for him that would allow him to dance to his heart’s content. Looking at him now, Zelda had to admit he wore tights very comfortably. Good for him.

She looked away from her companion, trying not to resent him for not feeling sick anymore, and looked at Midna.

Midna had decided to dress as an imp― how appropriate. But, much like all of Midna’s costumes, her version of an imp involved showing a lot of leg and cleavage. It it hadn’t been for the telltale script embroidery on her dark robes and the beautifully carved mask currently sitting atop her fire bright hair, Zelda might have accused her of simply dressing for allure.

Not for the first time, Zelda found herself wishing she were in the garden instead.

The door creaked open, and Paya entered. Midna let out a low whistle. Paya had selected a beautiful, possibly genuine Ancient Sheikah maiden costume. It certainly had all the traditional trappings of a proper cultural artpiece ―the historic hairpin, the ample thickly-quilted sleeves, the embroidered sashes― so that the final effect was absolutely stunning.

“Oh, Paya, you’re beautiful,” Zelda said, wishing her costume were as complete.

Paya took this compliment as she took all compliments: shyly. In fact, she was flushed to her ears and seemed unable to look Zelda in the eye, though she thanked both Midna and Misko when they complimented her as well.

“Most of the guests are already downstairs,” Paya said. “If you’re ready to come down.”

It didn’t matter, Zelda mourned. Link wouldn’t be there. “Alright,” she said instead. “Lead the way.”

She took Misko’s arm reluctantly, and saw Midna greet her companion for the night with detached politeness.

Zelda’s mind was elsewhere, though. It was curled up in front of a fire, kissing Link. It was gliding across a dance floor. It was stumbling into Link’s hard knee. It was gawking at a handsome gardener, wondering just  _ what  _ it was Paya was feeding her men, and could she have one…

Orphan Link. Commoner Link. Heroic, selfless, patient, wonderful Link. Ridiculously attractive Link.  _ Not  _ her Link. Tragically.

Paya led the way downstairs, and soon Zelda heard the music and the hum of conversation. They all slipped on their masks, and Zelda felt a silly fluttering of childish happiness in her chest.

“Paya, darling,” Midna said, when they entered, “you’ve outdone yourself.”

She wasn’t kidding. For the first time in all of Paya’s soirées, the ballroom was only darkly illuminated, the lighting warm but low, casting the dancing shadows of revellers high against the walls. Masked men and women mingled as one, and the low light created additional mystery, making features harder to discern.

The wreaths and decorations were festive, highly traditional of Midwinter, and the food tables were covered in delicacies and sweets of all sorts. It was feast for the senses, a delight to behold.

And Zelda only barely cared.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, nonetheless.

“I do have my staff to thank,” Paya said, humbly. She cast a significant glance at Zelda, but Zelda pretended not to notice. “They all worked so hard. I’m glad they get a chance to celebrate tomorrow.”

It was absurd to be more interested in that particular event than in this one. Paya’s Midwinter Masque was the social event of the season. It was little wonder Misko had worked so hard to feel better.

“Would milady like to dance?” Misko asked, all courtesy. He was puffed up with pride.

Well. She’d have to pass the time some way or other. “Alright.” She placed her hand on his and let him guide her to the floor, leaving Paya and Midna behind. She did see Paya lean in to speak hurriedly into Midna’s ear, but could hardly find it in herself to care.

Maybe, Zelda considered, she was depressed. Over a gardener. How foolish.

Well. He was a handsome gardener. She allowed Misko to lead and followed absently, lost in thought. A handsome gardener with a smile that could melt the hardest of hearts. And those lips… She very nearly sighed.

A handsome gardener who had jumped in to rescue her from almost certain death. Those, she knew, were not in common supply. When the newspapers caught wind of this, possibly tomorrow if rumours continued to function as they always did, he’d be hailed as a hero.

Her hero. It was blasted unfair that it would go no further. He had certainly not argued or fought to keep his role as her companion. And who would? She attracted no end of ambitious social climbers who continually caused trouble for him.

The memory of Lord Ghirahim very nearly made her scowl. Paya had promised that the investigators would look into him, beginning with his personal room. If any signs of premeditation were found, Zelda would see to it that he would be prosecuted to the fullest extent.

After all, Link might not have cared for her as she did for him, but that did not give anyone the right to murder him.

As Misko guided Zelda expertly through a spin, she caught a glimpse over his shoulder of the windows that looked out into the east garden. It was snowing, and the fat flakes that Paya had so fretted about were drifting lazily down beyond the glass, visible only because of the darkness in the ballroom and the lights strung about out of doors. It looked like a fairyland, like something out of a storybook, and Zelda desperately wished she were out there, on the arm of a simple gardener, instead of in here.

“Is all well, milady?” Misko asked.

Zelda looked at her companion and forced a smile, feeling guilty for wishing he was someone else. Yes, Misko was a bit puffed with his own importance, but his manners and training were impeccable. And he was handsome, his pale, silvery looks carefully selected by the escort service to offset her own golden hair and bright eyes. He’d been her companion so long they’d even developed their own code, a series of taps on the arm or subtle gestures of the fingers to indicate what she wanted: come closer, give me a moment of privacy, fetch me a drink, get this person to leave…

And yet, after only a few hours, Link hadn’t needed that kind of coaching. He’d been able to look at her and simply know.

“Highness?”

Misko looked concerned now, and Zelda realized she’d been staring at him.

“I apologize,” she said. “I fear I’ve not quite recovered from my trip into the water today. It’s left me a little… discomposed.” She summoned a wan smile and tried for levity. “I am afraid I will have much need of your human shielding services this evening.”

Misko looked concerned, but nodded. He didn’t offer to help her sneak out, and she tried not to feel a pang in her stomach. She was almost certain that Link would’ve…

No. No more comparing. This had to stop  _ now _ . Link was out of her life, and she needed to make her peace with that.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she said, figuring that maybe speaking the lie could make it more truthful. Misko smiled.

“As am I,” he said. “I felt so terrible for abandoning you at the last minute like that. I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been practically at death’s door…”

Zelda was sure. Though he’d received offers of movies, modeling jobs, and even a TV show, Misko had remained unwaveringly loyal to Zelda. She was never sure if that loyalty was emotional or pragmatic: as her escort, Misko had his own fan following, and though he wasn’t allowed to endorse any brands or speak publicly on his opinions, the fame he gained from being at her side made for a very comfortable life for him. 

“... heard they replaced me with a  _ gardener _ ,” Misko continued. “So of course I knew I couldn’t leave you alone, and put all my willpower into ushering the healing process along.”

Wait. Was he talking about Link?

“I’m so sorry for abandoning you, highness. Tell me… was it truly awful?”

He was talking about Link.

“Not at all,” said Zelda. “Given the situation, everyone performed admirably.”

Misko seemed to want to push for details, but his training prevented him from doing so. That was the nice thing about Misko: he never, ever pushed her, or said or did anything to make her forget that she was the princess, and he was her employed attendant.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Nobody ― nobody except occasionally Midna or Paya ― ever let Zelda forget what she was: a princess. Only a few people saw her as a woman.

She hated that.

Fortunately, Misko had apparently determined on his own that Zelda wasn’t up to another dance just now, and he’d begun leading her on her usual slow circle of the room… beginning at the refreshments table. Zelda’s eyes skated over the delectable food. Ordinarily, she’d have put Misko to work loading up a towering plate for her immediately ― there was no formal dinner tonight, only dancing and an incredible assortment of finger foods ― but her appetite was curiously absent.

As she dispassionately eyed a platter of foie gras bouchées and wondered if it was worth it to make Misko fetch her one, his stomach gave a loud grumble beside her. He pinkened, and Zelda found herself laughing for the first time that evening.

“Oh, do fetch yourself something, Misko,” she told him. “I’m not hungry yet, but I won’t be offended if you eat.”

“Oh, but highness…” Misko started, red all the way to his the tips of his ears.

“ _ Eat _ ,” Zelda said again, glad to be smiling. She felt a little prickle between her shoulder blades. “Or do you plan to make me listen to your stomach sing all evening?”

He was still blushing, but he nodded once and quickly filled up a little plate for himself. While his attention was on the buffet table, Zelda surveyed the room, wondering what it was she’d just felt. She was used to the sensation of eyes on her, but that… She surveyed the room. Nobody stuck out to her her. Funny. It has almost felt like…

No. It couldn’t be.

She shook off the wish ― stupid, hopeful, deluded wish ― and turned back to Misko, determined to put any lingering thoughts of the gardener out of her mind. But as she did, she caught a flash of brilliant blue out of the corner of her eye, and turned back.

A man in the costume of an ancient Champion was slowly weaving through the crowd. Zelda couldn’t help but admit that he wore the sky-blue tunic, braided bracers, and sturdy trousers well. He wore a traditional black Hylian Hood over the ensemble, and moved as though he’d been born to wear the outfit. A mask obscured his face beneath the hood. He moved unnoticed through the room, but something about him caught and held Zelda’s attention. What was it? Why? Was he approaching her?

By the time she realized he was getting closer, he came to a stop before her and bowed.

“Highness,” said a familiar voice. “May you be heir to a throne of nothing but joy.”

Zelda gaped for a long moment. Her heart apparently forgot to beat for a breath or two, because once she realized who she was talking to ― and what he was saying ― it kicked into overdrive, soaring like a bird and beating at her ribcage like a horse’s hooves.

“Link,” she hissed. “What― You’re here ― You found…?!”

“Highness,” said Misko suddenly, “who―”

“I’m fine, Misko,” she said without turning to him. “Please go eat your dinner.”

She could feel him hesitating behind her. Then he shuffled off, his movements slow and reluctant. Zelda didn’t bother to watch him go. She kept her eyes fixed on Link.

“Miss Purah found your brooch,” Link told her. “It’ll be returned to you before the night is over.”

Zelda closed her jaw.

“Where was it?” She forced herself to ask with detached calm, as though her mind wasn’t spinning in frantic, overexcited circles. He was here! What did it mean, though, that he was here? Had he just come to tell her about the brooch? Was that it?

“An unsavory person tried to use it to cause mischief,” Link said, smoothly sidestepping an answer. “So we decided to put it back to work. Don’t worry ― you’ll be reunited with it soon. I promise.”

She nodded dumbly.

“Thank you,” she said, calling on every ounce of her finishing school training to remain composed. “I appreciate you getting dressed up and coming down here to tell me that it’s been located.”

“Actually,” he said, his eyes sparkling behind the mask, and Zelda wondered how she hadn’t known immediately that it was him, “the brooch was only part of the reason I came.”

“Oh?” Zelda was trying very hard for nonchalance. “What’s the rest of it?”

“I wanted to see you.”

How could five little words mean so much, and so little? Zelda’s mind stuttered, grasping. He wanted to see her? But… but why? Maybe he was here to apologize? Sweet fool.

“If this is about earlier, please let me assure you, I don’t...”

“Zelda.” Her jaw popped right open again at the sound of her name on his lips… here… in public. He held out a hand. She automatically put hers into it, and his lips quirked up. “Dance with me?”

His fingers were warm. The leather of his replica gauntlets concealed the calluses that Zelda knew were on his palms. She felt strangely bereft without the scrape of them against her gloves.

“You want to dance with me?” She repeated.

“I do.”

“But you’re not my escort anymore.”

“I know.” His eyes were steady on hers.

“You snuck back in here to ask me to dance?”

Now he was starting to look exasperated.

“Miss Paya warned me you have a habit of overthinking things,” he said instead. “Are you going to dance with me or not?”

She squinted at him suspiciously.

“Is this a trick?” She thought about Midna and all of her impish schemes. This was precisely the kind of thing the shameless troublemaker might find entertaining. “Did the Countess of Twilight put you up to this?”

“No and no. I’m here because I want to be.” His thumb smoothed over the back of her hand in a ressurring caress. As he looked at her, his eyes narrowed, as though he’d realized something. “Nobody put me up to anything. I’m here because I wanted to see you and dance with you.”

“But―”

“I’d also like to state,” he continued, cutting her off, “that you look beautiful in your costume, but I’m disappointed you didn’t come dressed as something mundane.”

“Mund― what are you talking about?” Was he drunk? He was making no sense.

“You’re a lovely princess,” Link told her. “But you’re lovelier when you’re yourself.”

Most women, Zelda reflected, wanted the man they loved to say they looked like princesses. It said something about her that it made her deliriously happy to hear that Link liked her when better she was normal.

“Yes,” she said, feeling as though her feet had lifted her clear off the ground. “I will dance with you.”

Link smiled now― a real smile― and Zelda realized that even though he’d projected confidence, he’d been nervous.

“I’d hoped you would,” he said as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “I was going to feel really stupid if I’d had to go crawling back to Purah’s workshop with my tail between my legs because you turned me down.” 

“Purah?” They found a spot on the dance floor and stepped into hold. “Isn’t that the name of Miss Paya’s seamstress?”

“Yes.” Link’s smile was a little more like a grimace. “She’s apparently decided that I’m her new favorite dress-up toy.”

Zelda couldn’t fault the seamstress for that. Feeling bold ― feeling like she’d had an entire bottle of champagne, even though she hadn’t had a drop yet tonight ― Zelda ran a hand appreciatively down Link’s arm. When she’d seen him before, he’d been in layers of heavy costuming, starched suit, or thick coat. But the tunic and shirt of his Champion’s outfit were far thinner than those, and for the first time, she could feel the distinct ridge of muscles earned from a career of hard work in the outdoors. It was so different from the carefully-sculpted gym muscles of the men she knew ― he was so different from the other men she knew ― that a thrill shot through her.

“She does a good job,” Zelda said admiringly. 

“You’ll have to tell her so,” Link said. “She’d probably explode with happiness on the spot.”

Zelda nodded. This dance was a slow, simple one, and she was enjoying the heat of Link’s body pressed against her own. He was so warm ― even in the water, when she’d felt like she was dying of cold, his touch had seared her.

Which reminded her.

“About earlier,” Zelda said. “What Lord Ghirahim tried to do… I just want you to know… Again, I’m sorry.”

He cocked his head to the side, quizzical, and Zelda suddenly felt just as nervous as she had the first time she’d met him, when he’d turned around in the garden and the beauty of him had knocked all sense and decorum out of her head. True to form, she began to babble.

“I mean― that is to say, I’m sorry he tried to kill you, but I’m not sorry I pushed you, though I am sorry you had to come into the water after me― it was very cold, and that was very brave of you, but it wasn’t a surprise that you’re brave, because you’d have to be brave to come out here with me night after night, but ― oh, I’m not saying that I expected you to come into the water after me, because I certainly didn’t. In fact, that was the furthest thing from my mind when I pushed you. I just didn’t want you to be hurt, but then of course you got hurt anyway, although when I saw you’d jumped in after me I thought ‘of course Link jumped in after me’ but ― I’m not saying I’m glad you nearly died, because I’m not, it’s just that if anyone was going to save me―”

“Zelda,” Link said, his voice patient and deeply amused, “it’s fine.”

“But you nearly died,” she spluttered.

“I was more worried about you,” he said. The hand on her back slipped a little lower― an unconscious gesture, Zelda was sure, but still a thrilling one. “And besides, if I hadn’t jumped in after you, we wouldn’t have been in the cabin together.” Heat came into those blue eyes. “And I’m not sorry about that. I… I hope you aren’t, either.”

She gaped at him.

He'd  _ meant _ that kiss.

Happiness soared within her. 

“Of course not,” she managed after a moment. “Goddesses, Link, I’d been hoping you would do that since you showed up at my door that first night and said my dress looked like flowers.”

“Oh, good,” he said, looking cheerful. “We’re on the same page, then.”

They danced for a moment longer. Zelda’s heart was thundering. It was the start of the evening. Nobody was drunk yet ― well, a few die-hards were, but everyone else was sober…

Screw it. She moved closer to Link so their bodies were flush, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you came back,” she breathed, feeling vulnerable and alive. “I was afraid I would never see you again.”

“I don’t think I could have stayed away,” he responded, his voice a rumble in her ear. “You should have seen it. I was completely miserable, determined to let you go because I thought that was what you wanted, and then Miss Paya set me straight.”

“Paya?” Zelda looked up, aghast. “She’s never interfered in my life before.”

“She cares about you. Deeply. And…” he paused, as though steeling himself. “So do I.”

Zelda exhaled slowly.

“I like you,” he told her. “I want to spend more time with you― with the real you. With Zelda, not with the princess.”

“What,” Zelda said as humorously as she could, though her heart was beating like mad. “You haven’t enjoyed all these fancy events?”

“They’ve been alright,” Link agreed. “But only because I’ve been able to spend them with you.”

The matter-of-fact statement made her head and her heart soar. Giddy, Zelda laid her head down against his shoulder again, wanting to touch him as much as she could.

“I feel the same,” she breathed. “You’ve been the best part of this week, Link.”

His hold on her tightened, squeezing her gently for a moment, but he didn’t respond. They danced in silence for a few moments. Zelda’s mind was whirling. After a moment, she gave voice to her thoughts.  

“What do we do now?” Her voice was low, pitched to carry to his ear only. “Your life is here, and mine is… a mess.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said with assurance. “You’re smart and I can be irritatingly persistent. We’ll put our heads together and come up with something.”

“Irritatingly persistent?” Zelda asked, amused.

“Er―” Now, Link sounded embarrassed, but Zelda was too comfortable to lift her head and check his expression for herself. “It was something Hilda used to say about me.”

Zelda sighed.

“Hilda,” she said with relish, “was an idiot.”

“Yeah.” Zelda had been worried she’d hear hurt in Link’s voice, but now all she heard was a kind of wry amazement. “She was. But that’s a good thing for us.”

Zelda smiled.

“Us,” she repeated. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too,” Link agreed.

“Well, isn’t this charming?” A mellow, arch voice cut between them, piercing their little bubble of contentment like a sharp blade. “The princess and the thief.”

Zelda looked up. Ghirahim was standing there, fuming, Lady Cia beside him. Rather than wearing a mask, the Duke’s face was painted, his eyes ringed with purple, his lips frosted white. He wore an odd harlequin outfit with a cape ― Zelda figured it must have been some tribute to Faron’s mythology, which she didn’t know much about ― and Lady Cia seemed to have taken the opportunity to wear the tiniest shreds of fabric she could find, which had clearly been adhered to her body with costume glue. Judging by her hooked mask, she was meant to be a sorceress of some sort, but Zelda didn’t think any sorceress in history had ever worn such ridiculous clothes. She would’ve had to use all of her magic just to keep her nipples covered.

The diplomatic thing would be to diffuse the situation. But right about then, Zelda didn’t feel particularly diplomatic. “Please go away, my lord,” Zelda said. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage for one day?”

Lord Ghirahim’s pale face went bloodless, then red.

“He,” he said, jabbing a finger at Link, “is nothing but a commoner, and worse ― a thief. He stole your jewelry.” Lord Ghirahim’s dark eyes narrowed, and an ugly kind of triumph came into his face. He paused, clearly for dramatic effect. Zelda wondered if he was resisting the urge to strike a pose. Then, with relish, he said: “He’s just like his parents in that.”

Link stiffened in sudden surprise. Around them, people were breaking out of hold, turning to watch the spectacle.

“What do you mean,” Link asked slowly, “just like my parents?”

“Well, well,” said Ghirahim, tossing his pale hair. “The green boy speaks. I had my investigators look into your history. That orphanage you grew up must not have even tried to find anything, because it was laughably easy to discover who your parents were and learn their sordid history.”

Link looked carefully blank. “You’re lying,” he said simply. 

“I had the best investigators in the country on this. Princess, perhaps you’ve heard of a little firm called the Sages?” Of course she had: they were the private firm that the royal family used when the Royal Guard was unavailable. At Zelda’s wooden nod Ghirahim continued, clearly relishing the drama: “They found that this one’s father was nothing but a common thief. He was in a gang, can you imagine? And then his mother…” Ghirahim shook his head with mock sadness. “Her story’s a sad one. Junkie. Started selling her body to fund her drug habit. That was how she met Arn ― that was his father’s name, you know. Apparently they fell in love. Once you were born, they were going to start a new life together, but Arn wanted to pull off one last heist. He tried to rob a liquor store, only it went wrong, and he was shot. Medilia ― the boy’s mother ― dropped him off at the orphanage that night, crawled into the nearest gutter, and overdosed. It’s tragic, really.”

The room had gone quiet. Zelda saw that Link had curled his fingers into fists.

“That’s not true” Link said, carefully articulating each word with a voice that was icy calm.

“Oh, but it is. I’ve got the report to prove it.” Ghirahim looked at Link once, a long, arch glance that took in everything about him and clearly found it lacking. “You’re nothing. Less than nothing. You’re scum. What would ever make you worthy of a future queen? But I…. I am a Duke. A leader in my own right.” Ghirahim turned to Zelda, and now he went down on one knee. “You deserve an equal. I am that. You deserve wealth and prestige. I can give you that. Marry me, highness.”

Zelda gaped. Could it be? Could Ghirahim, in his narcissistic delusions, actually have become convinced that he was rescuing her from Link? Was this his moment of triumph, his grand victory?

The utter, absolute nerve. She opened her mouth to tell him off, but a commotion at the doors of the ballroom interrupted her.

“Ah,” said Ghirahim, dark eyes glittering with satisfaction as security guards streamed in. “And  _ that  _ will be the police. Bye bye, orphan boy. Enjoy prison.”

Link looked unnervingly calm. His only sign of unrest was the rage simmering in his eyes. The guards streamed towards them, and Zelda’s mind went blank.

“I can’t believe you,” she said to Ghirahim. “You orchestrated all this? For what? To prove a point?”

“To prove that you’re better than him,” said Ghirahim. He grabbed her hand and pulled it towards him, nearly toppling her. “You don’t need him. You need me. What’ll it be, princess? Say yes.”

There could only be one answer. But before she could give it, guards encircled them ― her and Ghirahim, putting a human barrier between Zelda and Link.

“Release the princess,” the big red-headed guard from earlier that day said to Ghirahim. For a moment, it looked like the duke would refuse… but he was surrounded by guards. With a bloodless smile, he released the princess’ fingers.

“She’s in no danger from me,” Ghirahim said. “It’s good you’re here. The thief is there.” He nodded at Link, barely visible beyond the guards encircling him and Zelda.

The big guard didn’t respond. Instead, he stepped forward, his whole body tense.

“Highness, please step back,” he said. He gestured at the Duke. “This man is under arrest.”

Zelda slowly complied, mind whirling. What was happening? Ghirahim had just spun a wild tale -- surely it couldn’t be true ― and then he’d accused Link of….

… of….

…  _ oh _ .

Link’s words from earlier that evening floated back to her, lost in all the chaos of the last few minutes. 

_ ‘Miss Purah found your brooch. An unsavory person tried to use it to cause mischief. So we decided to put it back to work.’ _

Link had done this. Ghirahim had framed Link, and Link had framed him right back.

Zelda didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry.

“What is this?” Ghirahim’s careful elegance began to crack as guards surrounded him. “I’ve done no such thing. I’ve been framed.”

“We have testimony here from a servant who observed Lady Cia retrieving the brooch from your pocket when she greeted you several days ago,” said the guard to Zelda. “She and Duke Ghirahim have been repeatedly observed in close quarters, and we believe they conspired to sell your brooch.” Outside the circle, Zelda could see that two more guards had already taken Lady Cia into custody. She was thrashing and snarling, and an errant thought flickered through Zelda’s head that if Lady Cia thrashed much harder, her ridiculous costume would fall off. 

It was all too much. All of the revelations of the past quarter-hour crashed onto Zelda’s shoulders like heavy weight. She bit back a hysterical giggle. Now was not the time for laughter.

“Duke Ghirahim of Faron,” said the guard, “You need to come with me now. You’re being placed under arrest for accessory to felony theft.”

“This is wrong,” said the duke, nevertheless rising to his feet with cool dignity. He spoke to Zelda, not to the guards. “Clearly a mistake has been made, and all will be resolved by dawn. I’ll await my answer, highness.”

“You can have it now,” Zelda said. “It’s no, and nothing you can do will change that. I will never marry you, Lord Ghirahim.”

Rage came into his eyes, dark and flashing. He snarled, and for a moment he looked like he would lunge at her― then collected himself. He turned on a heel with a ‘hmph’ and marched out in Lady Cia’s struggling wake, trailed by guards. 

The big guard turned to Zelda, an apology in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry about the unpleasant interruption, highness,” he said. “But as soon as we found the brooch, we knew we needed to return it to you immediately. Here.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a parcel wrapped in dark fabric. With trembling fingers, Zelda unwrapped it.

There, cradled in the big man’s palms, was her precious brooch.

She lifted it and turned it over. An inscription glinted on the back, just as she’d remembered it:

_ ‘Beloved Zelda, I wish you a throne of nothing but joy, HRH R.B.H.’ _

She took the brooch and fastened it to the empty spot in her dress, willing away the tears that were gathering in her eyes.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, looking up at the guard. “You’ve done me a great service this evening.”

“Aw.” The big man turned red and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Just doing my job, ma’am.”

Zelda sniffed and smiled. The guard, seeing her struggle, turned to the assembled spectators.

“Go back to your party now, folks,” he said, waving his two massive hands. “Show’s over.”

People began to murmur, then mull around. Zelda turned, looking for an anchor in the chaos.

“Highness, are you well?”

It was Misko, standing just behind her, looking worried.

“I’m…” Zelda looked around. No blue Champion’s tunic. No Hylian hood. Link was gone, vanished like an apparition. “I’m… no, I am not. Misko, can you get me out of here? I don’t wish to speak to anyone. I need a moment to collect myself.”

Misko nodded once and held out his arm to Zelda. Blessed Misko, always taking orders and never complaining ― he was going to be so disappointed that Link was putting him out of a job.

If Link still wanted to be with her, that was. How many more blows would he be willing to take in her company?

Misko guided Zelda out of the ballroom, effortlessly deflecting each person who came up to try to speak to Zelda, to gossip about what had just happened. In the hallway, Zelda detached herself from Misko’s arm.

“Thank you,” she told him. “I’ll be right back. I just need a moment.”

Concern showed on Misko’s handsome face.

“Can I escort you?” He asked. “After everything that just happened…”

“ _ No _ ,” Zelda said with more force than she’d intended. She gentled her tone. “No. Stay here and keep people from following me. I’ll be right back.”

Misko clearly didn’t understand, but nevertheless nodded once. Zelda picked up her skirts and turned, fleeing down the hallway. She took a door into the servants’ halls and ran.

“Link,” she said to the first wide-eyed worker she passed. “Where is he?”

“I… saw him pass this way just a few minutes ago,” said the servant. “L-looked like he was heading to Purah’s workshop.”

“Where is that?” Zelda asked.

“In the b-b-basement, majesty,” stuttered the poor man.

“Thank you,” Zelda said, and ran.

She should have asked for directions: she got lost no small number of times, and by the time she found the doors to the workshop, she was near tears with frustration. She threw the doors open and tumbled in.

“Link,” she called. “Are you here?”

“You just missed him.”

The tiniest woman Zelda had ever seen stood before her, grave-eyed behind her large red spectacles. This must be the infamous seamstress Purah.

“Where did he go?” Zelda knew she sounded desperate but she didn’t care.

“He left,” said the little Sheikah. “Didn’t even bother to change. Just grabbed his car keys and left. He’s probably in the car right now, even though I told him it’s not safe…”

“Not safe?” Zelda’s heart, already cracking, gave an anxious twist.

“We’re under a blizzard watch,” said the little woman. “It’s not a good idea to drive. I told him not to go, but he wouldn’t listen…”

“I need to catch him,” Zelda said. “I need to get him.”

The woman shook her head.

“It’s not safe,” she repeated. “Especially not for you. I’m sorry, Highness. You need to stay here.”

“B-but… But Link…”

The woman sighed. Though she was tiny and her face was unlined, she suddenly looked very old and very tired.

“Highness,” she said, though the title didn’t sound formal on her lips, “Can you tell me what happened?”

“It was Lord Ghirahim ― he burst in and told this horrible story about Link’s parents, and… oh, it can’t be true, it just can’t be, and even if it is I don’t care, but now Link is gone…”

The door slammed open again, and Midna and Paya tumbled through.

“Zelda, there you are,” said Paya with relief. “I was worried.”

“Paya,” Zelda said, turning to her dear friend, “it’s Link ― there’s a blizzard, and he’s gotten in his car― he’s upset, it’s not safe―”

“Link has driven these mountains in the snow many, many times,” Paya said gently. Her hands came up to Zelda’s, and Zelda realized she’d tangled her fingers in the front of Paya’s traditional wrap. “He’s going to be alright. I’m more worried about you right now.”

“But Link―”

“We’ll send someone to Kakariko to check on him in the morning,” said Paya. “He’s going to be fine. He’s strong, Zelda. And so are you.”

Zelda nodded. She felt hollow. Empty.

A tear slid down her face. Then another.

“Drat that wretched duke,” Midna muttered. “Come on, Zelda. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed. Would you like cocoa? Fruit cake?”

Zelda sniffled. Both sounded marvelous.

Then she remembered the weight of her father’s brooch at her breast, and remembered her costume-that-wasn’t-a-costume. She straightened. The little seamstress offered Zelda a handkerchief, and she used it to dab at her eyes, careful not to smear her makeup.

“No,” Zelda said. “I’m going back to the ball.”

“Zel…” Midna started. Zelda shook her head.

“I’m going to be a queen,” she said. “I have to start acting like it. And… and anyway, what Ghirahim said… I can’t let it bother me. I can’t react.” As far as she was concerned, it was irrelevant. “So I have to go back.”

“Alright,” Midna said after a moment. She and Paya wore twin expressions of worry. “If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Zelda said. She straightened, then paused and turned back to the little seamstress.

“Thank you for the handkerchief,” she said, returning the fabric to the tiny woman. “And for dressing Link. He has looked wonderful these past three nights.”

“Oh, believe me,” said the little woman, “it was no chore at all.”

Zelda found herself smiling a little. “I’m sure it wasn’t,” she agreed. “Thank you anyway.”

Then, with a fortifying breath, she turned her face back to the door.

“Let’s go back,” she said, trying for more calm and courage than she felt. “We’ve been away from the party for long enough.”

“Alright,” Paya said. She took one of Zelda’s arms and Midna took the other. Together, they walked back through the servant’s halls. As they walked in silence, Zelda promised herself that no matter how heavy her heart felt, she’d keep her chin high and her steps light, and she’d wear her father’s brooch with pride.

And then, once this horrible ball was over, once the dawn came, she would find Link and they would sort things out. 

_ Wait for me, Link, _ she thought.  _ Stay safe. I’m coming for you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CM:** Just realized this entire chapter was mostly your doing, you spectacular tropester, you.  
>  **Lyx:** I aim to please.  
>  **CM:** I think it's time for Link to mope.  
>  **Lyx:** You love it when Link mopes.  
>  **CM:** Gosh, but I do.  
>  **Lyx:** Have at 'im.


	8. Chapter 8

Midwinter morning dawned bleak and snowy. Aryll strode into his apartment bedroom after stomping out of her snow boots. With a groan of self-loathing, Link remembered he’d never asked her not to do that.

“I’m going to need to ask you to leave your copy of my apartment key on that chest of drawers there,” Link mumbled, vaguely gesturing to his worn-down furniture. “And, also, go away.”

“I’m not going away,” Aryll said. He didn’t have to look up to know what she looked like. He could see her perfectly well in his mind’s eye: the blue eyes, the blonde pigtails, the crossed arms and the angry expression on her face. “I’ve called you ten times this morning and you let it ring straight through to voicemail. And you haven’t answered my texts. Explain yourself.”

“No.”

His bed sank near his feet with a creak, but Link didn’t move. “What are you,  _ twelve _ ?” She asked, lifting an old pair of boxers and throwing it somewhere in the clutter of clothes on the floor with disgust.

“Yes.”

“Good, then your behaviour is developmentally on track,” she said. She was silent for a moment. Link hardly budged, hoping she’d believe him dead and leave. “Are you crying?” She asked.

“I’m not―” Before he could think it through, boyish indignation forced him to turn to her. “I am not crying. Does it look like I’m crying? Leave me alone.”

“It’s okay to cry,” Aryll said, lightly, and Link rolled his eyes, pulling his pillow over his head, grumbling. “Especially grown men. Toxic masculinity―”

“ _ Go away _ ,” he said.

“No.” She crawled closer and sat on him, none too gently. It punched the air out of his lungs and she began to shake him, as annoying as any little sister. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nooooo― Ouch! Crap on a  _ broomstick _ , that was my  _ rib _ .”

“Twin bruises if you don’t spill,” Aryll warned. “Three, two, one―”

“Aryll, I swear to all the gods―”

She pinched his side. Hard. Link yelped, emerging from below his pillow and scurrying out from under her, cursing in every language he knew.

She crossed her legs on his comforter and peered at him smugly. “Now tell me about this crush of yours.”

He sank against the wall, sitting in the mess of his old work clothes. “It’s not a crush. I don’t have a crush. Because I am  _ not  _ twelve.”

“It has to be a crush,” Aryll said, matter-of-factly. “In fact, it has to be heartbreak, because the last time I’ve found you sulking in your apartment alone like this was after Hilda left.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“Did you kiss her?”

“Hilda?” He grimaced at her. “Of course I― she was my  _ girlfriend _ .”

Aryll let her head flop backwards on her nape with exaggerated annoyance. “Not Hilda, you ninny. The Princess.”

He was silent just a second too long, because Aryll’s expression changed and she clasped her hands together with a merry clap, eyes suddenly bright.

“All. My. Gods. You  _ did _ . You  _ kissed  _ her!” She said something else in rapid-fire girl-talk, which was too high-pitched for male ears to grasp, then took a gasping breath. “I’m going to need a new dress! Oh,  _ Link _ . This is so exciting. Did she kiss you back? I should have asked that first. She kissed you back, though, I know she did. Who wouldn’t? You’re like my big gross brother, but way too many friends asked for your number for me to pretend you’re not handsome.”

“Gee,” Link deadpanned, feeling wretched, “thanks.”

Aryll’s expression sobered into genuine concern. “What’s going on?”

Link shook his head. It took a while for the words to make it past his lips. “I just discovered why my parents never came to get me.”

Aryll was silent for a long moment as the words settled down around them. Then, softly, she said, “Oh, Link. I’m so sorry― what happened?”

As he unpacked the story out loud ― something he’d already done in loops through most of the night ― Link could feel the numbness crowd in his limbs and curl around his heart.

“... And that’s why I’m an orphan,” he finished, bitterly. “I’m just an unworthy child of unworthy parents, broken and unlovable.” Now his voice did crack. “And I’m going die here, alone, and no one will notice until the smell forces them to break down the door and find my shriveled husk.”

Aryll said nothing. When he glanced at her, he saw her eyes were watery. It made his own eyes prickle.

“You’re a goddamn idiot,” Aryll said, voice stuffy. She pushed herself off the bed and kneeled to hug him. “I’m here, aren’t I? And you have other friends too ― aren’t you always telling me about Granté and Groose, from work?”

“Work friends,” Link grumbled. “It’s the saddest part of it all. Work is all I have left.”

She pulled back, frowned. “And yet, if not for work, you wouldn’t have met the princess, or dressed up so handsomely―”

“She can do better,” Link said, sighing. He pushed himself to his feet, then dragged himself to the kitchen down the hall. Aryll followed, a few steps behind. “If she knows what’s best for her.”

“Why do you say that?” Aryll asked, baffled. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard all night. Why would anyone―”

“I’m not charming,” Link said. “I’m too serious,” he was listing things on his fingers now, venomously, “I understand plants better than people―”

Aryll frowned. “This is beginning to sound familiar…”

“I have two left feet, and I’m unrefined, and I’m―”

“Hilda,” Aryll said. “You’re channeling Hilda right now. Stop that.” She grabbed his hands before he could continue his list. “Link― Gods, how many times do I need to tell you that she was wrong?”

“She’s still with Ravio,” Link reminded her, angrily. “She’s still with him. Clearly, she’s capable of long-term relationships. But not me!”

Aryll’s eyes flashed with ire. “That is not on Hilda,” she said, coolly. “You can’t have long-term relationships because you keep running away!” She turned to point at the clock on the stovetop. “Look at that! It’s almost eleven AM on Midwinter and you’re here, alone, complaining that you have no friends. But I invited you to a party with my friends.  _ And _ if I hadn’t, you had an amazing masked ball at work― or even the employee party this afternoon, but no. You’re here, complaining that you’re lonely!”

“She can do better,” Link said, deflating. “She’s the Princess.”

Aryll shook her head, annoyed. “Link, you’re your own person, not your parents.” When he didn’t reply, she continued, insistent. “It sucks that we were orphans, and it sucks that your parents were deadbeat lowlifes, and it sucks that they’re dead. It sucks that Hilda left you for your best friend. But there’s one thing that really sucks, more than anything else, and it’s not something that I can change, no matter how much I try. Do you know what that is?”

Link didn’t reply. She inhaled. Exhaled.

“It sucks,” she explained, “that when people try to tell you who you are, you don’t believe them.” She brushed past him and opened one of his cupboards, pulling out a glass. “So it won’t matter how amazing I think you are, or how much I wish you were my actual brother. It won’t matter if Princess Zelda wants to be with you, or if all of her friends approve of you. It won’t matter if the whole world thinks you’re the most handsome mystery gardener of all time. You’ve already decided that you’re worthless.” She filled the glass at the sink. “And until you snap out of it, your ex will continue to be right.”

She handed him the glass of water. He took it, numbly.

“Link. It’s Midwinter. I can drive you anywhere you like, but you’re not staying here. What’s it going to be?”

He sipped. Outside, the blizzard had faded, leaving the world covered in a thick overlay of snow. Many roads would be impassable until much later, when the snow plows finally cleared the way.

“I should…” He hesitated, tightening his grip on his glass of water. “I mean… The wise thing to do…”

“ _ No _ ,” Aryll contested. “The wise thing to do? What is wrong with you? Screw common sense. You used to love Midwinter! Remember how you’d swear that it was the one day a year where wishes came true?”

“I was an idiot,” Link said, but he stifled a smile against the rim of his glass and she noticed.

“You have all year to be serious,” she argued. “So today, if only today, you’re going to be old Link again, and you’re going to make a wish, and we’re going to make it happen. So, what’s your wish? It better be a good one. Don’t waste the Midwinter magic. You should ask for something totally farfetched, like… I don’t know… A  _ princess _ ?”

“You’re really not subtle,” Link said.

She raised a hand. “Forgive me, you’re right. Subtle it is. How about, hm…” She pretended to think. “How about―”

“Nothing but joy,” Link murmured to himself, peering into his glass unseeingly.

Aryll mused about it, deflating a little. “I mean… Yeah. Sure. A little vague, but I guess we can work on that.”

“I appreciate the invitation, but I think I’m going to have to miss your party. I have somewhere to be,” Link said, straightening.

“You should shower first,” Aryll said, settling in to wait. “And brush your teeth.”

He didn’t dignify that with a reply. When he reemerged from his bedroom, he had changed clothes and freshened up. He still felt wretched, but at least he had some vague idea of a plan.

So when he and Aryll finally stepped out on his apartment building’s front stoop and he saw the big black car, he paused.

And his heart began to pound.

“I’ll―” Aryll said, retrieving her keys in her purse. “Uh. I’m gonna go.” She jingled her keys at him, but he barely reacted, even when she leaned over to peck his cheek. “Call me later if you know what’s good for you,” she hissed.

But Link didn’t respond. He didn’t even see Aryll walk off.

Because Zelda was leaning against the big car in her winter coat, with a big wool hat pulled low over her ears for warmth and anonymity. Even with her mittened hands shoved into her coat pockets and her winter boots, she managed to look beautiful, an angel in the snow.

When she raised her eyes at him and shot him a smile that actually seemed shy, he realized his throat was dry.

“Hi, Link.”

His throat worked as he tried to summon moisture to his mouth.

“Hi,” he croaked lamely. He wasn’t sure if he should bow, or if that would upset her, so he jammed his hands in his pockets and executed a weird little half-bob that made him feel like an idiot. “What’s up?”

_ What’s up?  _ Link kicked himself mentally and called himself twelve kinds of an idiot.  _ That’s your smooth opening line? _

If he could crawl into a hole and sleep for a hundred years, it wouldn’t be long enough.

“I, uh, came to see you,” she said,  looking just as awkward as Link felt.

They stared at each other for a long moment. A cold wind blew across them, and Link felt himself shivering a little under his coat. It was enough to snap him out of his surprised stupor.

“How long have you been waiting out here?”

“About ten minutes,” she said. She shifted her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I was actually trying to summon the courage to come knock on your door… ummm.” She’d gone pink, and Link wasn’t sure if it was from cold. “Can I… talk to you? Maybe somewhere private?” 

Was she asking him to invite her into his hovel? Link’s mind frantically began to race. How messy was it up there? He hadn’t been paying attention…

“I mean, we can talk in the car if you want,” she said, going even pinker. “There’s a privacy barrier and, uh, stuff, but if you’d prefer…”

Link looked at the car. Through the tinted glass, he couldn’t see anything, but he was willing to bet there were two very scary members of the Royal Guard in there, just waiting to break his neck if he so much as breathed wrong.

“We can go upstairs if you’d like,” he said after a moment.

She nodded, then turned and knocked on the window. It rolled down, exposing a man in a dark coat who looked… surprisingly average, actually. 

“I’m going inside,” she told the man. A little authority came into her voice. “I’ve got my button, and I’ll be perfectly safe.  _ Don’t _ follow me― and if I find out you’ve eavesdropped by hacking our phones or anything else, I’ll have your heads on pikes.”

The agent looked wearily resigned.

“Yes, highness,” he said tiredly. Zelda held out a mittened hand, and the man passed her a brown envelope. She withdrew from the car, the folder tucked under her arm, and smiled unsteadily up at Link.

“Shall we?”

Fingers numb and mind whirling, Link led her into the building, up the stairs, and to his tiny apartment.

“It might be messy, and it’s not very nice,” he warned her apologetically.

“Up until very recently, I was a graduate student at a university,” Zelda said. Her voice had warmed a little. “Out of sheer stubbornness, and very much in spite of my father’s wishes, I lived on the income typical to such. I’m no stranger to secondhand furniture and instant noodle dinners.”

Link very much doubted it, but didn’t disagree. Instead, he finished unlocking the door and led Zelda into his small apartment. She looked around, her arms wrapped around herself, and Link tried to see it through her eyes: worn furniture that was nevertheless well cared for, a little framed art on the walls ― no pictures ― and plants everywhere, spilling out of pots and boxes, green leaves trailing across every surface and filling the air with a clean scent. She looked around for a long moment, then gave a little “oh!” of surprise and made a beeline for the sunniest sill in his apartment where a single Silent Princess grew happily from a modest earthenware pot.

“I thought these were nearly impossible to grow indoors unless you had a state-of-the-art greenhouse,” she said, brushing two fingers reverently across a pale petal.

Link shrugged awkwardly.

“I like the challenge,” he said. “Back down in the parking lot― what did you mean about having a button, or putting heads on pikes?”

“The button,” Zelda said, still studying the little flower with something like awe, “is a panic button I can press if I need rescuing.” She wrinkled her nose. “The royal guard is very finicky about that sort of thing. And the heads on pikes thing ― that’s slang, a holdover from the very very old days, that basically means that their lives and the lives of their superiors will be made very uncomfortable by yours truly if they disobey my order.”

Link nodded absently. She was still looking at that plant. It was just a plant, Link thought… yes, a tricky one, but just a plant… maybe she was nervous? Maybe she was regretting coming up? Maybe she was so horrified by his poverty that she couldn’t look at him?

Time for a distraction.

“When I was a kid, I wanted to be in the Royal Guard,” he confessed. Needing something to do, he trundled into the kitchen and filled up the electric kettle, pitching his voice to carry over the sound of running water. “It probably came from watching  too much TV. I always thought they looked so cool in their black suits, with their dark glasses and their earpieces, running around and stopping bad guys and solving mysteries. I decided when I was about five that I was going to be the youngest Captain of the Royal Guard in history… and that maybe once I was, I’d be able to find my parents.” He turned the tap off, set the kettle on its base, and flicked the switch.

“What changed your mind?” Zelda asked as he walked back into the living room.

“I went to college,” Link said. “Took a few classes in the criminology track and didn’t much care for it. I enjoyed the fighting lessons in gym, but the psychological profiling stuff gave me a headache. Around the same time, I’d taken botany as an elective, and found that I really enjoyed it… so I changed my dream.” A little bitterness came into his voice. “Plants can’t be cruel. Plants don’t hurt each other, or get up and leave. I liked studying plants much better than I liked studying people, so I switched majors.”

She nodded as she absorbed this information.

“Where did you study? And where did you grow up?”

“The orphanage is actually here, in Kakariko,” Link said. “Hylia’s Home for Children. But I wanted to see more of the world, so I went to Citadel U in Akkala. I was just out of college when Miss Paya discovered me and whisked me back here.” He shook his head. “I honestly thought I’d never return to Necluda.”

“And yet here you are,” she said, and there was something in the words that managed to encompass not just him, but her, too: here they were in his apartment, an orphan and a princess, together in spite of all odds.

She’d finally turned away from the flower, and was watching him with concern. Her eyes were the same color as new leaves, and right now they were shining with worry. Link wanted to make that bruised look go away. He should say something. He should apologize for running off last night. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

“Green’s my favorite color.”

Stupid, stupid,  _ stupid _ .

Her lips parted a little in confusion, and Link decided he’d better explain. She’d come all this way to see him, so he might as well really and truly make an idiot of himself.

“Your eyes,” he explained, wishing he could crawl out of his skin with embarrassment. “They’re green.”

Her jaw shut, and a little smile flickered across her face.

“I’ve always been rather partial to blue myself,” she said with a slight blush. Link felt himself pinkening too. His eyes were blue.

Goddesses, this was awkward. So incredibly, painfully awkward.

Link gave a little laugh, amused in spite of himself.

“What?” She asked.

“I was just thinking,” he said, “that I don’t think you could find two more awkward people if you used all of your mighty royal resources. Here we are, talking about favorite colors and blushing at each other. We’re hopeless.”

She was smiling now.

“We rather are, aren’t we?” She asked, then shook her head ruefully. “We’re quite the pair.”

In the kitchen, the kettle clicked off.

“Would you like some tea? It’s not fancy, but I thought you might want to warm up after standing around in the cold…”

“That would be lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”

Link gestured at the worn old couch.

“Please,” he told her. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

He walked into the kitchen, then rummaged through the cabinets for his least-chipped mugs. Too bad they were mismatched… oh well. He dropped a tea bag into each, poured the water over, and carried the mugs out, trying to look calm and not at all awkward or flustered. Zelda had settled into the corner of the couch, her feet tucked underneath her, her shoes on the ground. She’d put the brown folder on the coffee table in front of her, and was now regarding it as though it was a venomous snake.

“What’s that?” Link asked, nodding at the folder.

“That,” she said, “is something that was found in Lord Ghirahim’s suite last night. It’s a report detailing the investigation he had done into your… history.”

Link felt his cautious optimism evaporating. He set the mugs down on the table beside the folder and sank onto the other end of the couch.

“I haven’t looked at it,” she said earnestly. “That big redheaded guard found it and brought it straight to me. Said that nobody else had seen what was inside other than him. I thought… I thought that you should have it,” she told him. “That you should be the first to read it, or not.”

Link stared at it. Such an innocuous little thing, that brown folder ― how could something so simple carry such an ominous weight with it?

“I want you to know that no matter what’s in it ― if it’s as bad as the Duke said, or better, or maybe even worse ― it doesn’t matter to me.”

Link felt his eyes snapping to her. She was watching him with something like earnestness.

“How…” he stammered. “How can you say that? They were criminals, lowlifes… you’re a princess...”

“Yes,” she agreed primly. For a moment, she looked almost bitter. “You’re right. My ancestors have far more blood on their hands than yours do. How good of you to point out that I am unworthy of you.”

He knew it. He knew she wouldn’t want him. He knew she wouldn’t tarnish her name by―

― wait ―

“What? You’re not― _ what _ ??”

“As far as I know, none of your ancestors started wars,” she pointed out coolly. “Or implemented laws that oppressed entire races and nations of people. I doubt very much that your great-great-great grandfather ordered his servants beheaded for theft. Compared to me, your progenitors were saints.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

“Well when you put it that way,” he finally said, “it… doesn’t seem quite that bad.”

“It doesn’t,” she agreed. “In fact, put that way, it seems like you’d be doing me quite the honor by continuing our association.”

Her odd choice in words jerked an unwilling snort of amusement from him.

“Our association?” He said. “That makes it sound so sterile.”

“Our friendship,” she amended. Her voice dropped and softened. “Though… I would still very much like to see if there’s more between us. Even though it’s only been a few days… I like you quite a lot, Link. I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

Link looked at her for a long moment. Then he exhaled. His heart was thundering in his chest, but even still… this felt good.  _ Right _ .

“Yeah,” he said. “I… feel the same.”

She smiled, and it lit up her whole face like a Midwinter tree. He found himself grinning goofily back. After a moment, she cocked her head to the side.

“Who was that young woman?” She asked. “Who came out of the apartment with you?”

“Aryll,” Link said instantly. “She and I were at the orphanage together. She’s… pretty much my younger sister, actually.”

Zelda nodded as she reached forward for her mug.

“Were you two going somewhere?” She looked suddenly horrified and self-conscious, and her fingers went white where they gripped her mug. “Goddesses, I haven’t disrupted your Midwinter plans, have I?”

“No, no,” Link said, chortling. “In fact, I was going to come back up to the manor to see you. I feel bad about running out last night ― I owe you an apology for abandoning you like that. It was… a lot to absorb at once, and I panicked. I’m sorry.”

“No apology is necessary,” Zelda said. “I was worried for you, but I’m glad to see you’re holding together. As for coming up to the manor, you wouldn’t have had any luck. The roads are completely impassible.”

Link looked at her for a long moment.

“If they’re impassible,” he said slowly, “then how are you here?”

She looked simultaneously embarrassed and proud as she took a sip of her tea. “I demanded the Royal Guard come fetch me with a helicopter,” she said. “I don’t think the director of the Kakariko branch appreciated my daybreak summons, but it allowed me to get down here in a reasonable amount of time.”

“The perks of being a royal,” Link said, shaking his head.

“Well, there has to be some sort of payoff. Do you know how miserable it is, living under a microscope?” She looked annoyed, and it was the most adorable thing Link had ever seen.

“I don’t,” Link said, but couldn’t help the smile spreading across his face. “But I’m looking forward to finding out and hating it with you.”

Her big green eyes filled with soft emotion.

“Oh, Link,” she said. “I know it’s a lot to ask…”

“It’s worth it,” he said, feeling very brave. “If it means I get to be with you.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then carefully set her mug down on the the coffee table. Then she flung herself at Link, throwing her arms around his neck. A moment later, her lips met his own. The kiss was just as incredible as Link remembered from the cabin, and he kissed her back with enthusiasm. A moment later, they broke apart, breathing heavily, and she snuggled more firmly into his lap.

Then she gave a self-satisfied chortle.

“What?” Link asked, wondering at how someone could fit so perfectly against him.

“I was just thinking,” she said, and there was an undeniable note of smugness in her voice, “that Hilda is an idiot.”

“She’s going to lose her mind,” Link agreed. “But who cares about her?”

“Who indeed,” Zelda asked happily. She sounded highly amused. “Perhaps she and Misko can form an anti-fan-club. He’s going to be most upset that you’ve put him out of a job.”

“I have the feeling that Misko will land on his feet,” Link said, tucking her head under his chin. She curled against him and sighed happily. Link found himself smiling as he breathed in the scent of her hair.

They cuddled in the contented quiet, their drinks forgotten, simply happy to be in each other’s company. After a long time, she spoke again.

“Did you have any plans today, other than groveling?” She asked. “I don’t, so we can do whatever you’d like.”

Link stroked her hair thoughtfully.

“There’s a staff party at Miss Paya’s this evening,” he said. Part of him marveled at the sheer unpredictability of the situation― him, a gardener, and her, a princess, snuggling together in his modest apartment. “It’s tradition ― gives us a chance to celebrate like all the fancy guests. People are encouraged to bring their families, or bring dates. Would you like to go as my date?”

“I would love to,” she said stoutly. “It sounds far better than those stuffy balls.”

“Yes,” Link agreed with a laugh. “It’s quite a bit more laid back. People will probably be intimidated around you at first, but I’m sure they’ll warm up after a few drinks. Miss Paya is usually there too, so that should help ease the way.”

Zelda nodded. Her fingers played up and down the buttons of Link’s shirt.

“It’s funny,” she said after a moment. “How all the stories talk about Midwinter being a time when magic happens and wishes come true. I’d always dreamt of something incredible happening to me on Midwinter, but never really thought it would happen.”

“You think I’m incredible?” Link felt very flattered. “I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming. Who would have ever thought something like this would happen? I’m nobody ― just an orphan.”

“And yet you seem to have gotten yourself a princess for Midwinter,” she said, sounding satisfied. “Too bad for you ― this Midwinter gift is non-returnable.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Link said. “And you’re wrong.”

“Oh?”

“The princess is nice, sure. But I like Zelda better.”

She raised her head, smiling at him like he’d hung the moon in the sky, and Link couldn’t help but be proud of himself for having put such a look on her face. He wanted to see her smile like that every day, and by the Goddesses, he would do everything in his power to make it so. Their lips met again, and Link couldn’t help the frisson of pure joy that shot through him, head to toe.

He really was the luckiest man in the world, he thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CM:** WAIT. WAIT. I see what you did there!  
>  **Lyx:** I'M NOT SORRY  
>  **CM:** Alright, I'll get the epilogue... Time to write the fluffiest piece of Zelink trash that has ever graced anyone's computer screen, ever. Wish me luck.  
>  **Lyx:** I believe in you.  
>  **CM:** You know, the real treasure of this journey was the friendships we made along the way.  
>  **Lyx:** The real lesson was inside our hearts all this time.  
>  **CM:** ...  
>  **Lyx:** Don't do it.  
>  **CM:** ... But it's what's in my heart.  
>  **Lyx:** No. CM. Stop. Don't.  
>  **CM:** But I haven't mentioned _Sense8_ in at least two days now.  
>  **Lyx:** But you don't need to.  
>  **CM:** Please?  
>  **Lyx:** ... Fine.  
>  **CM:** FULL FRONTAL―  
>  **Lyx:** Ugh  
>  **CM:** ―MAX RIEMELT PEE~N!


	9. Epilogue

“They’re out of wine,” Midna said, thrusting a flute of champagne into Zelda’s hand. Around them, the party was markedly rowdier than all three previous evenings had been. “Fifty rupees says that we’ll have a conga line within the hour.”

For all that she seemed to grouse, though, there was no mistaking the look of sheer satisfaction on Midna’s face. Zelda nudged her gently with an elbow.

“You seem to be in a good mood,” she said.

“Of course I’m in a good mood,” Midna said, lifting the rim of her flute up to her lips. “Lady Cia is a thief, Lord Ghirahim is accused of attempted manslaughter, and I just watched Hyrule Broadcasting Channel’s Quipper footage of them getting marched up the steps to jail on a lovely Midwinter morning.” She gave a little shiver of delight and took a long sip of champagne. “That sleaze. By the time I saw the clip, it had been re-quipped over eight thousand times. Goddess shine on the court of public opinion.”

“It’s only until he gets a bail hearing,” Zelda reminded her, repressively. When Midna frowned at her, she stifled a smile of her own. “I saw it in the car,” she admitted. “The only reason it didn’t make my day was that something else already had.”

Across the room, the big red guard said something that made Link and a few of his colleagues burst out laughing. Their laughter rang out through the cacophony of the party, but Zelda didn’t mind. Even now, knowing that he liked her in return, looking at Link made her insides flutter.

Midna threaded her arm through Zelda’s and leaned in a little closer. “Please tell me you deflowered him.” She waggled her eyebrows. Zelda flushed.

“ _ Honestly _ , Midna.”

“I can’t be blamed,” she said, sighing. Her golden eyes went to study Link appreciatively. “Purah showed me a costume she was working on― this leather and fur and bone thing. She said most of the effect would be better rendered with body paint.  _ Body paint _ .”

Zelda frowned up at her. “What― a costume for Link?” With  _ body paint _ ?

Midna nodded. “It’s a barbarian’s war outfit, she says. She hopes you’ll have him star in one of Paya’s spring charity plays. All I could think was, ‘Oh, good, I happen to know someone who can tell me if it’s worth going to all that trouble just to see a gardener in body paint’.” She peered at Zelda. “So. Is it?”

Gods. It would definitely be worth it, Zelda thought, flushing. “I think I need to speak to Paya about the sexual harassment around here.”

Midna clucked her tongue. “Fine, be evasive. But I know stubble burn when I see it.” She ran a cool finger against’s Zelda’s cheek, and Zelda nearly dropped her champagne flute, the embarrassment sudden.

Oh, no. She and Link had only just returned from… well. There were a lot of alcoves in Paya’s manor. “We remained fully clothed at all times,” she lied, primly, though the effect was undoubtedly ruined by how bright red her ears were.

“I’m sure,” Midna said, flatly. Fortunately, she decided to let the issue drop. “If you won’t talk about our future king, can we talk about Paya’s future?” She squinted to look at their friend, seated at one of the tables. Paya had a healthy flush on her face and she wasn’t alone.

“That’s one of Link’s colleagues,” Zelda said. “Link mentioned the man has a huge crush on Paya.”

“Our little Papaya,” Midna said, wistfully, wiping at a fake tear in her eye. “All grown-up. They warn you, you know, that you have to let your children go, but they grow up so fast.”

“Hush,” Zelda said, pushing her. Midna chuckled, and Zelda couldn’t help but laugh too.

It was amazing how easily laughter came to her now. Zelda felt like she was floating on clouds. She was the luckiest woman in the world, and nothing seemed able to dampen her spirits. Possibly in part due to the copious amount of spirits she had so far imbibed.

Across the room, Link’s eyes lifted and met hers. They seemed alive with merriment, and she was pleased when she saw him excuse himself to cross the dancefloor and join her.

“Princess,” he said, nodding to her. Then, to Midna, “Countess.”

“Let’s not fool ourselves with the titles,” Midna said. “I know it’s been only a few hours, but I’m sure you’ve groped each other enough that you’ll be on first name basis. Might as well do the same for me.”

“ _ Midna _ !” Zelda gasped, appalled.

Link glanced around them and, once he saw they were far enough away from everyone else overhearing, he snaked his arm around Zelda’s waist, stilling her protestations to a mere whimper of muddled feeling, and conceded. “Fine,” he said. “Midna it is. And yes, we have.”

“ _ Link _ !” Zelda hissed, feeling her face grow warmer than ever. But he smirked at her, and instead of creating further embarrassment, that expression of confident intimacy sparked a new little flame in her stomach.

_ Well _ . He’d vowed earlier that he was completely over Hilda, and judging by the way he was looking at her, she was more than inclined to believe him.

Midna’s eyes were alight with surprise… and genuine amusement. “Well, well, well. I don’t know whether to be jealous or disgusted. This is a first.” She shook her champagne flute and noted it was almost empty. “I need a refill.”

“Go on,” Link said, jokingly. “We’ll pretend you’re not buying time to find a witty comeback.”

Midna’s brows went almost to her hairline. Then, feigning outrage and stifling a grin, she huffed and turned away. Zelda watched her go with actual bemusement.

“I think she’s blushing,” she whispered.

Link wasn’t even looking at Midna anymore. His hand began to caress the small of her back and he leaned in to her ear, his warm breath triggering shivers up and down her spine. “I know I should be more decorous,” he said, “but I can’t stop thinking that this party is grossly undersupplied in mistletoe.”

“And who should we blame for that, hm?” Zelda asked, teasingly. “I’m not the gardener here.” She turned to look up at him, to see whether her joke had landed, and realized their lips were inches apart.

Link had noticed the same thing. His gaze went to her lips, then back up to her eyes, the moment suspended in time, endless and tantalizing.

“I want to kiss you again,” he murmured, mindful of so many eyes now upon them. “Really bad.”

“Oh,” she said, breathless. “Good.”

“I’m going to find us some mistletoe,” Link said, firmly, pulling away with a sharp, shuddering inhale that was more than a little flattering. Only he grabbed her hand and began tugging her along, so that she had no choice but to let him tow her. And she didn’t mind.

“You don’t need mistletoe to kiss me,” she said, as they weaved gracelessly through the groups of employees, giggling like children. Around them, people who noticed her cheered.

“You said we had to follow protocol,” Link said, without looking over his shoulder. “And that our relationship couldn’t be public until a press release was drafted― and that it would have to wait until next Monday―”

Public. Zelda might have laughed. By now the rumours of their relationship were abundant on Quipper. The ‘RoyalWeddingBells’ tagword was trending. But nothing was official, she reminded herself. And protocol did matter.

“... So the only way I can kiss you in public,” Link continued, “is by using the season to my advantage. Granté!”

Granté looked up from his conversation with Paya, evidently annoyed by the disturbance. Once he noticed Link and Zelda’s clasped hands, however, he exchanged a rueful look with his employer. Shrugging, he called over the din of the party. “ _ What _ ?”

By now, people were looking on with amusement, clearly entertained. And Zelda found she wasn’t even embarrassed.

“I need mistletoe,” Link said, which triggered a rumble of good-natured laughs. “It’s an emergency.”

Granté made a show of rolling his eyes. “We hung some up in the Hall.”

“The West Hall,” Paya specified, and Zelda saw her smile warmly. It was its own blessing. But she couldn’t even say thanks before Link tugged her along again. Behind them, the other partygoers had begun to follow, loudly and merrily.

Through the door and into the corridor they went, now a veritable procession of gardeners, maids, cooks, butlers and launderers, and Zelda had to hitch her skirts up a little to ensure she could keep up with Link’s long, purposeful strides.

They entered the West Hall, slamming the door open and just narrowly avoiding property damage.

The mistletoe hung from the chandelier, and under the chandelier sat Purah. The assembly, bustling in, welcomed the sight with amused hollers and a cacophony of suspenseful ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s, not unlike some sort of ancient Hylian theatre chorus, Zelda thought. It made her giggle.

“I’ve been expecting you,” Purah said, her diminutive form lounging in the chair like a villainess, legs crossed and glasses perched ominously on her button nose.

Link groaned with annoyance. “Seriously?”

Purah dropped the villainy and exclaimed, “What do you mean, ‘seriously’? You think I’m going to stop being your own personal creep just because you’ve got a girlfriend now?” She spared a smirk for Zelda and two thumbs up. “Which, by the way,  _ well  _ done, darling.” This elicited several chuckles and even Zelda smiled, though Link looked mightily deflated. “But honestly, I would think that a true hero would do just about anything to earn himself a proper reward. Especially if that only meant saying thank you to his loyal and devoted fairy godmother.”

Link looked at Zelda. Not for the first time, she was struck by how ridiculously handsome he was.

She shrugged. “She’s right, you know. She did outfit you marvelously.”

By now the crowd was cheering, and Zelda tugged him along. Together, they bent on each side of Purah’s chair, Zelda to the left and Link to the right, dutifully pecking her cheeks.

The seamstress’ arms went around their necks and hugged, to Link’s vast annoyance. And then Purah whispered, “I have a Midwinter gift for you that involves body paint.”

Link pulled away, frowning. “What.”

But Zelda smiled graciously. “I’ve heard. Thank you in advance.”

Link looked at her, even more confused. “What?”

Purah pushed herself out of the chair and hopped away cheerfully. Which was when Link realized the mistletoe was finally available. He seized the chair for himself, pulling Zelda ―who yelped― into his lap. In that moment, he was a little like Father Winter, only far more smug. And young. And handsome. He smirked up at her, all of Purah’s interference forgotten.

“Oh no,” he said, not sounding sorry in the least, “I’ve fallen under the mistletoe.” It was the least convincing display of contrition she’d ever seen, completely ruined by his charming smile and firm hold.

“Oh, no,” she breathed, dazed.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The crowd chanted, but Zelda could hardly hear them. Link’s hand came up to brush her hair out of her face, then cupped her cheek. It was warm. Calloused. And she nearly melted.

Gods, she thought at their lips met again, he was a magnificent kisser. Hilda was a world-class idiot.

They pulled apart, hearts racing. The crowd was clapping and hooting encouragement. Through her blush, Zelda felt her heart swell with joy.

Nothing but joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lyx:** Welp. I think we’ve really outdone ourselves.  
>  **CM:** I just realized we basically wrote a Nanowrimo novel in three weeks. This “oneshot” is 49k words.  
>  **Lyx:** Holy fuck. That is fucking TEAMWORK.  
>  **CM:** If you were here in Canada with me right now, I’d fist bump you.  
>  **Lyx:** This whole approach of writing until you hit a roadblock and then tagging it out to your buddy really works.  
>  **CM:** It’s not hard to reach the end… when you’ve got a writing friend!  
>  **Lyx:** We should do it again sometime. Maybe… _A Princess for Midsummer: Royal Wedding_?  
>  **CM:** You know me, I’m always up for writing more prime-quality trash. Also, it’s gonna be beach-themed.  
>  **Lyx:** Glad we sorted that out. Alright! This was a riot. High five, trash buddy!  
>  **CM:** Honestly, though, it was a fucking privilege to work on this with you. Thank you! <3
> 
> And thank you to everyone for reading this. Happy holidays!  
> Love,  
> CrazygurlMadness & Lyxie


End file.
